


tell me i'm your national anthem

by oopshidaisy



Category: Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Politics, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Dystopia, Enemies to Lovers, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Son Tony, Howard Stark is the President, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, M/M, Minor James "Rhodey" Rhodes/Tony Stark, Misunderstandings, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prince Steve, Red White and Royal Blue AU, so that's great news
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:18:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22410127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oopshidaisy/pseuds/oopshidaisy
Summary: Red, White & Royal Blue AU. Tony Stark is the unwilling First Son of the United States, whose rivalry with beloved Prince Steve threatens UK/US relations. After an international incident involving a wedding cake, Steve and Tony are forced to fake a friendship for the public eye - a fake friendship that evolves into something real, and dangerous.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Natasha Romanov/Sam Wilson, James "Rhodey" Rhodes & Tony Stark, Pepper Potts & Tony Stark, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Tony Stark & Janet Van Dyne
Comments: 50
Kudos: 148





	1. way out of sync from the beginning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chasingconstellations](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chasingconstellations/gifts).



> yes i made captain america british. no i have no regrets.

“You can’t make me go,” Tony said. He was lying on his back with his feet on his bed, trying to think. If only people would stop reminding him of his FSOTUS duties, he might actually be able to get some work done.

“I’m not making you do anything,” Pepper said from the doorway, her voice irritatingly patient. “Convention dictates that—”

“I went to that congressional gala last week! Don’t I deserve some time off?”

He’d been planning on going over to Rhodey’s this weekend to fix his car. Systematically taking machinery apart and putting it back together, better, was as close a thing as he had to stress relief while his father dedicated himself to fucking over the country.

“Right, the congressional gala,” Pepper said. “You made headlines after that – something about a tryst in a hotel room with Janet Van Dyne?”

“Oh, Jan’s doing great,” Tony responded. “She asked about you. I told her you were as anal-retentive as ever.”

“Charming,” Pepper said.

It was true that he and Janet had spent the night of the congressional gala together; it was less true that they’d spent it having sex. After a rather entertaining attempt at a relationship when they were both sixteen, they’d decided they were much better as friends. It was still fun to bait the media, though. They met up frequently to get shitfaced and watch trashy TV anyway, and it was all too easy to bookend such occasions by stumbling in and out of a hotel room for the benefit of the paparazzi. All of it was harmless fun. (Of course, Howard Stark didn’t think so, but Tony viewed his father’s disapproval as an added bonus.)

“Your father said, and I quote, ‘If he doesn’t behave himself he can say goodbye to living on my dime’,” Pepper told him.

“I don’t live on Dad’s dime,” Tony said. “I live on the taxpayer’s dime.”

“He’s just asking you to play along, Tony.”

“Plus, he’d never actually kick me out. Can you imagine the tank in approval ratings? ‘President Throws Son onto Streets’ – I can see the headlines now.”

“You’re twenty-one years old and have two degrees from MIT,” Pepper said. “I think you’d manage.”

It was true; if Howard cut him off, Tony was still a tabloid darling who’d been labeled a genius since the age of three. But there was his mother to think of.

Tony sighed. “Fine. I’ll go to England. Can I bring Rhodey?”

Pepper’s brow went pinched. She wasn’t big on compromises, and there was probably nobody less welcome in the White House right now than James Rhodes.

“You know why you can’t be seen with him,” she said.

“Why?” Tony drawled. “Does he seriously think people are just going to _forget_ that I kissed him if we just stay quiet enough and send me to enough fancy British parties?”

“It’s a wedding,” Pepper said. “You cannot take the man you were caught kissing as your date to a wedding.”

“ _Caught_ makes it sound like I gave a shit whether anyone saw.”

Pepper’s professional demeanor finally cracked, and she came to sit down next to him, slipping out her heels on the way. Once she was close enough, Tony slid onto the floor and rested his head on her leg.

“You’re spiraling,” she said. “I know your dad is—”

“Literal Satan?” Tony suggested.

“—not great, but that’s no reason for you to mess your own life up.”

Tony snorted. “It’s like, I got no choice in him being my father, fine, but then the American people go ahead and choose to make him the most powerful guy on earth? And, because of that, I’m supposed to be this perfect son and marry some daughter of an oil baron from Texas and have nine kids and—”

“Right now, all you’re supposed to do is get on a flight to London,” Pepper reminded him. “That’s it. And I’ll be right there with you.” She was stroking his hair, now, light and scratchy how she knew he liked it. Even though she was technically employed by his father to keep him in line, Tony kind of loved her.

“What time?”

“Nine am.”

Tony groaned. There went his plans to pull an all-nighter and crash when the sun went up.

“I didn’t know you valued your beauty rest so highly,” Pepper said.

Tony rolled his eyes. “Even I need to put some work into a doctorate, Pep.”

“Your robots can live without you for a few days.”

“As if. DUM-E will be lost without me.”

Pepper smiled down at him. She was only a couple of years his senior; she’d gotten her job fresh out of college, wrangling the kids of the previous administration. Those ones had been five and eight years old, respectively – Pepper was fond of telling him that there wasn’t much of a difference. And, much as he loved his mother, it often felt as though Pepper was his only ally in the sickening political world he’d found himself in. Maria Stark genuinely loved her husband and thought he wanted what was best for the country, despite the mounting evidence to the contrary (there were only so many times Tony could predict that America was months away from another financial crisis before he sounded like a broken record even to himself). Pepper, on the other hand, had a tic where her jaw clenched every time someone mentioned Howard’s policies. It was adorable, and had endeared her to Tony immediately.

“We can bring Janet, if she’s free,” Pepper suggested.

“Knowing her, she already wrangled an invite.”

Pepper hummed in agreement. “Call her anyway.”

“You just want back-up for keeping me in line.”

“When it comes to you and Prince Steve, I need all the help I can get,” Pepper said.

Tony rolled his eyes. “I’ll behave.”

“Really? Because last time you saw him, you told him you wanted to punch him in his ‘perfect teeth’.”

“I was _joking_. Can the monarchy not even take a joke?”

“No! They can’t!”

“So I suppose I’m not allowed to mention all the inbreeding?”

Pepper flicked him in the cheek. “I’m going home,” she said, “and I’ll be back bright and early tomorrow to drag you onto your plane. Be ready.”

*

Tony was late for the plane. It was just—he’d woken up at four am with the _need_ to make some modifications to the AI program he was working on, and then he’d fallen asleep at his desk, and the next thing he knew he was being shaken awake by Jan.

“Baby boy,” she said, ruffling his hair, “drink some coffee and get your ass onto your plane.”

“Where’s Pepper?” Tony yawned. He snagged the Starbucks cup out of Jan’s hand and took a sip, wincing at the lack of sugar.

“Already on the plane.” Janet smirked. “She’s going to kill you, by the way.”

“I look forward to it.”

He got to his feet lethargically, trying to stretch away the cramp in his neck. Sleeping hunched over a desk would do that to you.

“She was meant to come get me,” he said, accepting a pile of clothes from Janet. Deep red shirt, casual-but-fancy black slacks; he wished Jan dressed him all the time. “I wish you dressed me all the time.”

“Flattery will get you absolutely nowhere, sweetheart. And Pep’s been busy. Your dad just about declared war on Russia last night.”

Tony sighed. “Of course he did.”

“Good thing we’re fleeing to the UK.”

He stripped down without fanfare – it was nothing Janet hadn’t seen before, after all – and shrugged his way into his outfit.

“You know, some people just wear sweatpants when they’re flying across the Atlantic. Sunglasses?”

“They’re in my bag. Come on, hurry up.”

*

Once they were airborne, Tony logged onto Twitter and, sure enough, reports were coming in of a skirmish between American and Russian forces in Ukraine. Naturally, his mentions were full of people who thought he was capable of convincing his father to do _anything_.

“Janet, baby,” he said, “how much do I have to pay you to just put me out of my goddamn misery?”

Janet glanced up at him; she was painting her toenails in the seat across from him, a shade of dazzling purple.

“Pep, he’s doing his self-loathing again,” she called.

Pepper, who was wearing a sleep mask and ear-plugs, sighed. “I’m sleeping,” she said. “I was up all night and now I am sleeping. Tell Tony to love himself until I have awoken.”

Janet smirked at him. “You heard the woman. Give me some of that famed Tony Stark ego.”

“I hate everyone on this plane.”

*

Pepper woke up four hours later, without so much as a dark circle under her eyes. In the three years he’d known her, her skin had never been anything less than flawless. It was kind of terrifying.

“I’ve been asked to remind you not to embarrass yourself,” was the first thing she said. Tony, absorbed in a paper on robotic aviation, almost didn’t hear her. “You’re attending the wedding as a representative of the United States of America, so I need you to stand around looking pretty and not arguing with anyone. Is that understood?”

Tony looked up at her. “I promise not to cause an international incident.”

Happy Hogan, the secret service agent who was tasked with watching over him, snorted rather indelicately. Tony glared.

“I promise to _try_ not to cause an international incident.”

Pepper threw a magazine at his head.

“I’m being attacked,” Tony said flatly, catching it before any damage could be done to his face. The front cover was emblazoned with the happy couple, Prince Henry and his Hungarian princess. A real-life fairy tale.

“We’ll do our best to keep you away from Prince Henry,” Pepper said.

“Why? I love proving I’m smarter than him. He gets the best look on his face, like he’s eaten something sour.”

“That’s exactly why. He hates you.”

“Well, god forbid I try to explain the limitations of artificial intelligence to him.”

“And you’re not allowed to talk to Steve,” Pepper said.

“But I already said I wouldn’t threaten him this time!”

 _This time?_ Janet mouthed at him. Tony waved her off.

“You two have proven time and time again that you can’t get through a conversation without insulting each other, so I’m cutting you off. Non-negotiable.”

“But I _like_ insulting him,” Tony whined.

“You’re allowed to talk to Princess Carol.”

“Oh, cool, I like her.”

“But you’re _not_ allowed to flirt with her.”

“Pepper. Light of my life. When have you _ever_ known me not to flirt with someone?”

Janet kicked him in the shin. “You hardly ever flirt with me anymore.”

“That’s because you’re a sure thing,” he said, blowing her a kiss. “But, fine. I won’t talk to the boy princes, and I won’t flirt with the princess. Anything else?”

“Yes. If you seduce any of the bridesmaids or groomsmen, I will personally put out a hit on you,” Pepper warned him. “You know I have the connections.”

“Okay. So the long and short of it is: don’t have any fun.”

“You got it!” Janet chimed in.

*

The first time Tony met Steve, he’d felt desire hit like a bolt in his gut. It was horrific; the man was wearing polo gear, because they were at a _polo match_. Tony blamed the shock of being attracted to someone who was playing polo for everything that had happened thereafter.

It was during Howard’s first official state visit to Britain, a week of bad food and even worse weather, of going to see every godforsaken thing the English elite thought passed for entertainment. It had taken Tony years to repress the memory of playing a round of croquet with the nasally Prime Minister. Even considering that, the polo match was the low point of the visit.

It had been one thing seeing the international heartthrob Prince Steve splashed across the pages of gossip magazines. He was, in fact, often placed in juxtaposition with Tony: the prince charming of England next to the bad boy prince of the United States. But – for one thing, still photos had never quite done him justice. For another, Steve had been brought up by Howard one too many times as an example of what Tony _should_ be, the perfect inoffensive figurehead with a thousand-kilowatt smile and no dirty laundry to be aired on TMZ. Tony had been predisposed to hate him, and not prepared at all for the fact that Prince Steve was exactly his type.

So he’d sauntered over to the prince, whose horse was being saddled, and introduced himself, holding out a hand and possibly not quite concealing his appreciative once-over. If you didn’t get to flirt with royalty on occasion, what was the point of being the son of the worst President in history?

Steve had looked down on him – he was a good few inches taller, which Tony was done pretending wasn’t a turn-on – and completely ignored the outstretched hand.

“Is this how Americans are taught to address members of the royal family?” he’d asked.

Tony had maintained for years that if Steve’s tone had been just a _little_ nicer, he would’ve apologized. Probably. There was a fifty percent chance, at least.

“We’re not really into the concept of a monarchy in the land of the free,” he’d said instead. “So you’ll have to forgive the fact that I’m not used to – what is it I’m supposed to do? Kiss a ring? Kneel?”

*

The wedding was exactly as dull as Tony had dreaded. No expense had been spared; he got the rundown from Janet and Princess Maria’s dress cost half a million pounds, alongside a £100,000 cake and a honeymoon with a price tag that was being kept conspicuously from the public. The opulence did nothing to distract from the fact that Henry had all the charisma of a substitute teacher; he slouched in his disappointingly traditional tux and his eyes twitched restlessly around, never settling for long on his wife. The whole thing was deeply awkward to watch, made worse by the hard church pews they were obliged to sit on while Henry repeated his vows in a dull monotone.

It was only Jan’s whispered commentary in his ear that kept Tony from yawning. Still, he caught Steve looking at them, eyes hard and disapproving, on more than one occasion. It was oddly thrilling, being the center of his attention. Tony smiled winningly back at him, already mourning the fact that he wouldn’t be allowed to bait him at the reception.

He couldn’t quite explain why he _enjoyed_ it so much, picking a fight with Steve. It was like whenever he saw him, his mind narrowed down to a single point of focus: getting a rise out of the perfect prince.

*

“How long until we can blow this popsicle stand?” Tony asked, gulping down his second glass of champagne. The reception was just as stuffy and refined as the ceremony, with the small improvement of unlimited alcohol.

“Behave,” Pepper said.

In response, Tony stole her champagne glass and downed that, too.

At least he looked good. He and Janet were in matching plum-toned outfits – his a tux, hers a delicate floor-length gown. It was both to give the rumor mill something to swirl over, and because they knew they made an attractive couple. Pepper’s dress was lilac, and there were flowers threaded through her hair. It felt good to sit in between them, watching as they turned down a seemingly endless stream of hopeful men asking for dances.

After the seventh middle-aged member of the British nobility approached her, Janet scraped her chair back and sat down on Tony’s lap, winding an arm around his neck.

“Steve keeps looking over at us,” she murmured into his ear. “You reckon he misses fighting with you as much as you miss him?”

“I don’t _miss_ him,” Tony snorted, steadying her with a hand on her waist. He could feel Pepper stiffening on his other side, probably due to their blatant breach of decorum. It was fine; being American covered for a multitude of sins.

“Miss Van Dyne,” a royal attendant, who appeared seemingly out of thin air, said. Janet squeaked in surprise. “His Royal Highness Prince Stephen wonders if you would do him the honor of accompanying him for a dance?”

Janet jumped off Tony so quickly she almost overbalanced on her heels. Tony stifled a laugh into a napkin.

“She’d love to,” Pepper cut in, glaring at them both.

Janet surreptitiously kicked Tony on the ankle. “I’d love to. Um. Lead the way?”

When Tony got over his laughing fit, he looked up to find Steve’s eyes already on him. His expression was as faintly disapproving as ever, but, as ever, it did nothing to detract from the tall handsomeness of every other part of him. His suit was midnight blue, three-piece, white flower protruding from the lapel. And – Tony knew full well how much Steve hated it when Tony looked him over the way he was doing right now, but he’d never been able to contain the impulse and wasn’t about to start now. There was no way Steve wasn’t used to people finding him attractive, so the issue had to be that Tony was a man. Or American.

“Miss Van Dyne,” he heard Steve say to Janet, holding out a hand for her. His eyes were still on Tony. “Are you familiar with the waltz?”

“I’ll manage,” said Janet, who Tony knew full well had been waltzing since she was five.

She glanced back at Tony as Steve took her lightly by the hand and waist, leading her into a slow rotation.

“If I have to attend their wedding in a few years, that’s it,” he said to Pepper. “I’m going off the grid. I’m moving to New Zealand and you can’t stop me.”

Pepper gave him an odd look.

“Do you think he’s doing this to piss me off? God, that’s just like him. Dick.”

“Not everything is about you, Tony.”

“Well, it should be.” Tony crossed his arms, uncrossed them, and stole Janet’s champagne.

Tony managed four more glasses before Steve let Janet go, well after they’d been photographed from every possible angle. He whispered something in her ear that made her giggle, the flirty giggle that endeared pretty much everyone in the world to Janet Van Dyne.

“Asshole knows she’s my date,” Tony said, huffily.

“Look at you, getting possessive over a woman who hasn’t been in a relationship with you for over five years,” Pepper said. She was surreptitiously tapping on her phone under the table. “That’s an impressive level of normal, even for you.”

Tony snagged another glass from a passing waiter while Pepper was distracted. If he was being forced to be here, he may as well be pleasantly drunk.

“It’s unfair that he’s so pretty,” he mused, watching Janet spin into the arms of another eligible bachelor. He was very pointedly not looking at Steve. “Isn’t it?”

“Not having this conversation with you,” Pepper said.

“Why couldn’t be have a face that matches his personality? Prince Henry has a face that matches _his_.”

Pepper looked up sharply. “How much champagne have you had?”

“A normal amount.” Tony held her gaze. “You know me, Pep. Takes a lot more than champagne to have an impact.”

“Right, of course. Why would that statement be in any way worrying?”

“You don’t have to worry about me so much,” Tony said, toying with the stem of his glass and wishing he could get another without Pepper’s ‘disappointed face’ making an appearance.

“I love you, Tony,” Pepper replied, “and it is literally my job description to worry about you.”

*

Tony eventually got to dance with Janet, which was nice because she was a good dancer, always had been. They’d both moved in the same elite circles during their childhoods, both been trained in the steps to a dozen ballroom classics. Plus, they were both insatiable show-offs.

He lifted her, saw camera flashes out of the corner of his eye. Janet grinned down at him.

“Even drunk, you’re still pretty good at this.”

“Please. I’m not drunk.”

“You stepped on my toe during the last spin. The Tony Stark I know would never do that sober.”

He winced, caught. “I said I was sorry.”

“And my foot appreciates it.” Janet spun him around and, yeah, it was a tiny bit dizzying. “Look, it’s a wedding. I’m sure Pepper will let you off.”

“And you?”

“As long as you don’t drop me, we’re fine.”

*

By the time he’d danced with three more women, one of whom had suggestively whispered her Savoy Hotel room number in his ear, he figured his duty as a guest was done and he was entitled to another few drinks. He grabbed two glasses and settled in near the food. Pepper had finally gotten up to dance with – or more accurately next to – Janet. Tony watched them fondly, so focused on their easy smiles and elegant movements that he entirely neglected to notice the arrival of someone next to him.

“Good of you to come,” the person said, and Tony jumped so hard he slopped half of his champagne onto his hands.

“Oh. Steve,” he said. “Yeah. Wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”

“But your father—”

“Dad sends his respects, but he’s awfully busy fucking everything up, so you’ll have to make do with just me.”

“My lucky day,” Steve said with a bland smile, and Tony felt his hackles rising.

“So,” he said, “you want me to get Janet’s number for you?”

Steve blinked at him. “No?”

“Only, I can’t think of another reason you’d be _deigning_ to talk to me, Your Highness.”

“Perhaps I hold out hope that one day you’ll mature enough to hold a conversation.”

Tony downed both his glasses on quick succession and set them down on the table behind him. “Forgive me if I don’t take a lecture on maturity from the boy prince of England too seriously.”

“Because being the playboy son of a President is a far nobler pursuit?”

“We’re _not the same_ ,” Tony hissed. “Everything special about you comes from your inbred bloodline.”

“Oh,” Steve said. “You’re drunk.”

“How clever of you.”

“Tell me, Stark, do you _ever_ stop drinking?” Steve asked.

“It’s a wedding,” Tony said, stepping closer. “Maybe some champagne would knock the fun in you loose.”

“And maybe you should consider switching to water.”

“Oh, fuck you.”

Steve frowned, as though Tony had _disappointed_ him. It made Tony’s palms sweat. He realized, belatedly, that his heart was pounding.

“Charming as ever,” Steve said, and turned to leave.

Even as he was doing it, Tony had no idea why – but he reached out and grabbed Steve’s arm, trying to pull him back into their argument by force, not thinking about why it was so important to him that they continued to fight.

It didn’t matter either way, because he’d overestimated Steve’s resistance to the gesture, or he’d underestimated Steve’s weight, or something, because the momentum of his pull brought Steve right up into his space, so abrupt that it was startling.

Startling enough that Tony took a step back, directly into the table of food.

The table of the £100,000 wedding cake.

For a split second, it seemed as though nothing might happen, that they could regain their balance and Steve would shake him off and walk away, but their feet were too tangled and Tony forgot to let go of Steve’s arm, and it all happened too fast for him to course correct, anyway.

It was only when the cake – alongside him and Steve – was smashed on the floor that he recognized how badly he’d fucked up.

The room was deadly silent. Tony did not look in the direction of Pepper and Jan.

Vaguely, he felt the cold pain of the remnants of his two champagne glasses biting into his back. He felt the soft fabric of Steve’s sleeve, still clutched in his hand. He felt, most of all, the weight of a thousand glares.

“You’re bleeding,” Steve told him, not sounding very broken up about it.

“That sounds about right,” Tony said.

Then Steve – who Tony had never heard swear – said, with quiet vehemence: “Fuck.”


	2. in a city sorrow built

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am unable to resist rhodeytony in any context. it cries out to me.

It was bad.

Scratch that: it was _really_ bad.

Tony sat across the desk from his father, pinned by the gazes of a dozen aides and strategists – and his mother. He didn’t get invited into the Oval Office often, so whenever he was summoned here he knew he’d royally fucked up. He hadn’t even been fully down the stairs of the jet when one of his father’s lackeys had materialized with the strict instructions to escort him to his judgment.

For the first time, Tony wished flights between the UK and America lasted longer than eight hours.

The silence was horrible. Howard, for all his faults, had a commanding presence, and Tony felt like a small child again, sinking down in his seat. Only, he supposed what happened next would be a lot worse than being sent to time out. Until now, he’d thought he’d experienced every level of disappointment from his father. He should have known better than to underestimate Howard Stark.

“It was an accident,” he said. 

“We know it was, honey.” Only a year ago, Maria Stark might have stood next to him, a supportive hand on his shoulder. But being the First Lady had cowed her; she was shrinking against the wall. Even her voice seemed smaller.

Obadiah Stane, the White House Chief of Staff, pulled a copy of the _Daily Mail_ from behind his back with – Tony thought – a burst of vindictive pleasure. There was only one person in the world who hated Tony more than Howard, and he was currently wielding the headline “CAKE-TASTROPHE!” like it was a weapon. Tony bit back a snort.

“How did you even get your hands on a British tabloid, Obie? Got a mistress over there we don’t know about?”

Obadiah’s jaw clenched.

“I suppose we have to fire the girl,” he sighed. “Such a shame.”

Tony sat up. “What girl?”

“Don’t be an idiot, Tony. Ms. Potts was warned that should your behavior reflect poorly on this administration, she would be let go.”

“But it wasn’t her fault! It was a freak accident; she couldn’t have prevented it.” He took a deep breath. “Please don’t fire her for my mistake.”

Howard shot him a withering glare.

“It’s obvious that you care for her a little _too_ much,” he said.

“What?” Tony reeled back. “Look, I’ll do anything. Whatever state functions you need me to attend, whatever girl you need me to be photographed with, I don’t care. But don’t fire Pepper.”

“As heart-warming as it is to see you care about someone who isn’t yourself,” Howard sneered, “we’ll need more than empty assurances this time.”

“We’ve come up with a plan,” Obadiah said.

“Oh, wonderful,” Tony muttered. He slouched back in his chair, fully aware that they still hadn’t resolved the issue of Pepper’s employment. He suspected that the threat had only been brought up to ensure his compliance with whatever came next, which was gross, but not an unusual tactic from either Obie or his father.

“You’re getting on a plane next weekend and going back to England,” Howard said. “You’ll be staying with Prince Steve for the duration of your time there, and the two of you _will_ present a united front.”

Obadiah cut in. “We’ll be pursuing the narrative that you and Steve have been close personal friends for years, and that this debacle was the result of some friendly fooling around. Just boys being boys, that sort of thing.”

Tony grimaced. “Everyone will know that’s bullshit.”

“Not if you _sell it_ ,” Howard said. “And you _will_ sell it, if you know what’s good for you. Now get out of my sight. Obadiah will brief you on the rest tomorrow.”

“I look forward to it,” Tony said, and stalked out.

*

Pepper was waiting in his room. Her expression was difficult to read, but he could tell anger wasn’t the dominant emotion, at least.

Still. “Sorry,” he said. “I had no idea – I didn’t realize your job was in the balance, or I would’ve never—”

Pepper waved him off. “They haven’t fired me.” She looked tired. It was the first time Tony could remember her looking tired. “They can’t. Everyone knows you like me, and you’ll be insufferable to my replacement. So I’m just on probation until they can work out how to get rid of me without inducing a Tony Stark Meltdown.”

“Pep…” Tony looked down at his hands, which were nervously twisting around each other. “Are you okay?”

She looked at him for a long second.

“He’s not my father,” she said eventually. “The worst he can do is fire me.”

Tony decided not to point out that, realistically, the worst President Stark could do was have her killed and make it look like an accident.

Instead, he said, “It was you who came up with this bromance plan, right?”

Pepper laughed, sitting down against the headboard of his four-poster bed and patting the spot next to her. Tony obediently curled up next to her, head on her shoulder. She took his hand.

“I had to prove to them that I’m good at this job,” she said. “Besides, you can sell bromance. The tabloids loved you and Rhodey, until…”

“Yeah,” Tony said. “Until.”

“Just don’t kiss the Prince of England in public and you’ll be fine.”

Tony snorted.

*

He’d missed a couple of calls from Rhodey during the flight back from the UK, and hadn’t replied to the many, many memes that Rhodey had screenshotted and sent to him regarding the Cake Incident. So, with Pepper’s hand still carding through his hair, he dialed Rhodey’s number.

“Took you long enough,” Rhodey said in greeting.

“Yeah, well, things have been crazy around here,” Tony said. “Pepper’s here and you’re on speaker. Say hi.”

“Glad to hear you’re still there, Potts.”

“By the skin of my teeth.”

Rhodey laughed. “By now they’ve gotta know you’re the only person on the planet with any hope of keeping Tony Stark out of trouble.”

“Hey!” Tony whined. “I’m going through some shit, stop being mean to me.”

“Tones, you’re at the center of a tabloid scandal every week.” Rhodey paused. “I really need to stop letting you drag me into those, by the way.”

“Yeah, babe, I’ve replaced you with the Prince of England.” Tony rolled his eyes. He and Rhodey had never actually dated, which Rhodey claimed was for his sanity. Thankfully, Rhodey’s fragile state of mind could withstand a best-friends-with-benefits situation, something Pepper loudly disapproved of without ever actually saying anything. “Anyway, this one is worse, apparently. Obadiah wants me dead. And now I have to be fake friends with Steve.”

Rhodey burst out laughing. “Only you, man. Only you.”

“I resent that,” Tony said. “This is just as much Prince Steve’s fault as it is mine.”

He could still hear Rhodey snickering.

“Okay, okay, so tell me what happened,” he said. “Regale me with how you’re not actually to blame for starting the second revolutionary war.”

“Well, first of all, _he_ came over to _me,_ I was under strict instructions to leave the moron alone, but he just _had_ to dance with Jan and then tell me I was drinking too much—”

“He _was_ drinking too much,” Pepper cut in.

Tony, unsure whether his headache was more stress, hangover or jetlag, made an offended noise. “It’s none of his business how much I drink at a wedding! People are meant to be having a good time! Pompous dick, I bet he drinks one fancy glass of wine with dinner and never a sip more.”

“If you say so.”

Rhodey had always been more understanding of the half-existent feud between Tony and Steve than Pepper – for one thing, Rhodey’d known him for longer, knew the way Tony had a tendency to fixate on specific people or feelings – but he was also the first to call Tony out on his bullshit, always. Tony groaned and tucked his face into Pepper’s neck. She patted him absently, as though he were a clingy cat.

“I just can’t believe I have to be friends with my _enemy_ ,” he whined, fully aware of the theatrics. He was going to get some sympathy if it killed him.

“You know I’d be there if I could,” Rhodey said.

Rhodey had been banned from the White House after the second time they’d been caught in the act. Tony had honestly been surprised by the extent of his father’s tolerance.

“I could come to you?”

“That’s not a good idea,” Pepper pointed out, reasonable but with very little appreciation for how much Tony wanted to be making out with somebody right now. Pepper often deliberately ignored the ‘horny twentysomething’ aspect of his personality.

“Your boss is right,” Rhodey said.

“She’s not my boss.”

Pepper flicked him in the cheek.

“She’s a little bit my boss.”

*

By morning, Pepper had a bullet-pointed list of his responsibilities for the next week, and a color-coded fact file on Prince Steve. It was impressive, since Tony had been asleep on top of her the entire time.

“How is one of his hobbies _walking_?” Tony complained. “Do they not have, like, movies in England? Who the fuck goes around saying one of life’s delights is—”

“You see, this is exactly the kind of thing we need you not to say,” Pepper said. She was pacing the room, immaculate but for the spot of drool Tony had left on her collar. It occasionally occurred to him that Pepper put up with rather a lot.

“So we tweet at each other, take a few selfies together, and go to a charity event of his choosing,” Tony read off the list. “That’s not… That could be worse.”

“Thank you,” Pepper said primly, taking the sheet of paper back from him and tucking it securely into her rose gold folder.

“And I have to go back to England? Can’t he come here and experience a type of weather that isn’t rain?”

Pepper looked down at him. “That cake,” she said slowly, “cost one-hundred-thousand pounds. You’re going to England. Pack a cute parka.”

“I make any parka look cute,” Tony grumbled, and set about composing a tweet to the Prince of England.

*

After some official brainstorming by people who ran focus groups and analyzed media patterns, it was decided that Janet would accompany him and Pepper on their next UK trip. They were a fairly popular trio, given that they were all hot and charming and had chemistry in spades (according to the focus group people, but also according to Tony). Apparently, having Jan and Pep around ‘humanized’ him, with the impressive result that their little gang had the bipartisan support that literally nothing else about Howard Stark’s administration had been able to elicit.

Tony sprawled out on the couch while Janet poured out wine for them all. She held his glass aloft when he tried to reach for it.

“No, nope,” she said. “This is what’s known as an _incentive_. For everything you get correct about the UK’s Mister Rogers, you get a sip.”

“I know that’s literally his name,” Tony said, “but it’s still sacrilege to call him that.”

“Do we have a deal?” Janet said.

“Right, fine.” Tony passed the fact file over to Pepper, who looked pleased with how dog-eared the pages had become. In the two days he’d had to prepare, Tony had looked over the material more than anyone with a photographic memory technically needed to. He was just being thorough.

“Question one,” Janet said. “What is Steve’s favorite food?”

Pepper flicked him in his foot, and Tony raised his legs so she could sit under them. He was generous like that.

“Oh my god, it was so boring, I’ve repressed it,” Tony said. “Like, fucking – he said Christmas dinner, didn’t he? Because he loves spending time with his family.”

“He did, indeed, say that.”

“Who in the shit likes spending time with their family?”

Janet patted him on the head and passed him his glass, carefully monitoring him and snatching it back away from him before he’d managed to get down more than a mouthful.

“You’re a sadist,” he whined.

“Good thing you’re a masochist,” Janet grinned. “Question two: name the members of the immediate royal family. Is immediate the right word? Name the main ones, anyway.”

“So it’s Queen Sarah, and his father who’s dead—”

“And who was named…?”

“Joseph. Served in the military, honorably discharged, won a shit-ton of medals, and then died falling off a pier in Brighton,” Tony said. “Which is kind of weird.”

Janet’s eyes were flying over the text in front of her. “Steve was only twelve. That’s awful.”

“Okay, okay, pity party later. I get to drink now.”

“Not until you name his siblings.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Henry, commonly known as Hank, asshole extraordinaire. Just got married to Princess Maria, I’m sure you’ll remember. And Carol, the youngest, rising star in the Royal Air Force and the only one I don’t actively hate. Good for her.”

“Dog’s name?” Janet asked while Tony took the four gulps of wine he deserved for naming four people.

Tony covered his face with a cushion. “He named his dog Winston. What did the poor bastard do to deserve that? Nothing. He’s just an adorable Labrador, named _Winston_.”

“Better than Churchill,” Pepper mused.

“ _Is it?_ ”

“Tell me about his best friends.”

Tony was drinking steadily, now, but Janet didn’t seem inclined to call him out on it, so he figured he was allowed. Steve’s life was so boring it would drive anyone to drink.

“So there’s his favorite bodyguard,” Tony said, “James. And the British press love that guy. He, uh, goes by Bucky and served in the British Army and got his arm blown off for his troubles, and now he’s the country’s heartthrob.”

“He is gorgeous,” Janet said, swiping away on her phone. “Oh, have you seen the ones from the BAFTAs?”

Tony, who had Internet-stalked Bucky Barnes for a full two hours the previous day, made a non-committal noise.

“The best friend who doesn’t work for him is Sam Wilson, also Air Force, why are literally all of these people part of the military,” Tony said. “And gorgeous,” he added as an afterthought. “The final member of the hot soldier cabal is the mysterious redhead everyone thinks Steve is dating, although I doubt it because _she_ looks interesting.”

“Good work,” Janet said, and Tony preened. “Okay, okay, final question: what is Steve’s favorite book?”

Tony finished off his glass and grinned. “He said it was a tie between _The Fellowship of the Ring_ and _Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone_. Because I guess he just stopped reading in Middle School.”

Pepper snorted. “You love _Lord of the Rings_.”

“Slander. Lies.”

“Didn’t you dress up as Aragorn for Halloween two years in a row?” Janet asked.

“You can’t prove that,” Tony said. “Oh, and he also said his favorite band was The Beatles. All I’m saying is that all of his answers sound like they were generated by a machine designed to be as generic as possible.”

“You have a point,” Pepper said, taking a delicate sip from her own glass. “And I think it sounds like you’re ready for whatever this fake friendship has to throw at you.”

“Cool. So, Pep, what was in my fact file? Do you think Prince Steve approves of my taste in music?”

“It’s all about how annoying you are alongside a thousand-word account of the time you tried to microwave an avocado.”

“I wanted to see what would happen!”

*

Tony met Bucky first.

He was chattering with Janet as they descended the steps of the plane that Friday, discussing the latest Alexander McQueen collection and whether Janet could pull off ruffles. She was mid-sentence when suddenly she came to a complete halt. Pepper bumped into her.

“It’s _him_ ,” she breathed.

Tony looked up and – sure enough – there was Bucky Barnes, lounging lazily against a sleek, dark car. He wasn’t dressed how Tony expected employees of the Crown were meant to dress. His white shirt was rolled up to the elbows, and his waistcoat – dark, silky blue – didn’t match his trousers _or_ his shoes. Still, he pulled it off. That was aggravating.

“Jan, I’m gonna need for you to keep it in your pants,” Tony said, pulling her down the rest of the stairs.

“Why, so you can try first?”

He grinned at her. “I would never sleep with a man who matches blue with grey with black. It’s a travesty. I’d have thought you’d feel the same.”

Janet waved a hand. “I’ll teach him how to dress.”

“I can hear you,” Bucky called, smirking, “and I should probably take this moment to tell you I’m flattered but attached.”

“That’s okay, it’s just me and Jan, we flirt with everyone. We’re like a super flirting team,” Tony said. “Ask Pepper, she hates us.”

“I’m so sorry, Mr Barnes,” Pepper said, stepping in front of Tony and Jan before they could do any more damage. She was getting more formal, the way she always did when she was stressed. “I promise that Mr Stark and Miss Van Dyne will be on their best behavior throughout this trip. You have nothing to worry about.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Is that so? That’s a disappointment.”

“Ooh, see, I _like_ him,” Tony grinned. “I like you.”

“I do, too,” Janet chimed in. “If you’re Prince Steve’s bodyguard, how come you aren’t guarding his body right now?”

Bucky shrugged. “He’s got plenty of people looking after him, and I wanted to be the first to meet the little shit who ruined his brother’s cake.”

“Hey, that was a team effort,” Tony said. “I’d hate to take all the credit.”

“I bet you would,” Bucky grinned, opening the back door of the car. Pepper climbed in first, with Jan in the middle and Tony on the left. It was roomy enough for them all to sit comfortably without touching, but Janet leaned into Tony’s side all the same. She always got tired after long flights – Tony had gotten used to her falling asleep on his shoulder a long time ago.

“I’m meant to welcome you all to England,” Bucky said, sliding into the driver’s seat.

“We’ve been,” Tony said. “And according to the itinerary, there’s not going to be a lot of free time for sight-seeing.”

“Not sure you’d want to, anyway. Forecast is rain all week.”

“Well, of course it is,” Tony said. He missed Malibu a lot of the time, but the feeling was particularly fierce as he stared out the window at the resolute greyness.

“You’ll all be staying in Kensington Palace,” Bucky said. “Three separate suites, though I imagine no one would mind if, um, you and Miss Van Dyne…”

Jan started giggling. “Oh, no. Never sleep with Tony, he steals all the blankets and wakes you up at three am because he’s just had a marvelous idea and needs to design a robot _right away_.”

“Hey,” Tony said, although nothing she’d said was untrue.

“Or he drools on you,” Pepper said.

“Hey!”

In the rearview mirror, Tony saw Bucky raise both his eyebrows. He winked.

“ _Anyway_ ,” Bucky said, “tomorrow morning you’ll be on BBC Breakfast, followed by an afternoon in the cancer ward of a children’s hospital. You and Stevie will go for lunch and dinner together, discreet but not so discreet that you don’t get photographed. That all sound good?”

“Dandy,” Tony said.

“We’re heading to meet Steve right now. He’s just finished a game of rugby with disadvantaged youths.”

There was a lot in that sentence that confused Tony, but he chose not to let it show.

“ _Rugby_ ,” Janet breathed, clearly delighted.

*

Rugby, it turned out, was a sport during which muscular men got very muddy and sweaty, and as a result Pepper was the only one who managed to keep her head.

“Tony. Janet. Stop gawping.”

“Pepper, baby, sometimes you’ve got to let your male-attracted friends have their fun,” Tony said. “We can’t all have good taste in genders.”

“Oh my god, _look at him_ ,” Janet said.

There was, Tony would readily admit, something unfairly attractive about a muddy, sweaty Steve Rogers. He was emptying a water bottle onto his own face. He could have been in a car commercial.

So, of course, as soon as Steve wandered into earshot Tony said, “Have you considered starring in car commercials? You’d make millions.”

Steve’s expression tightened.

“Tony,” he said. He was, somehow, even taller than Tony remembered. “You look…sober.”

“Only for you, sweetheart.” He inclined his head, trying to remember if he was expected to bow. He wasn’t going to bow to a man with a blade of grass stuck to his cheek, that would be ridiculous. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Pepper and Janet making their escape back to the car. Traitors.

In the bleachers – or stands, whatever they were called here – a couple of photographers had their cameras trained tightly on Tony and Steve, so Tony set a friendly hand on Steve’s shoulder. Steve immediately went as tense as a block of ice. This weekend was going to be hell on earth.

“We’re being watched,” he sighed. “Can you just play the part?”

Steve smiled. It was tight and rigid, but it would do.

“Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask,” Tony said, giving the paparazzi a good angle without looking directly at them. He’d had a lot of practice. “Are all of your friends supermodels? Like, do you pick them out of a catalog of hot people?”

“You met Bucky.”

“While you get started on the car commercials, he should do shampoo ones.”

“I’ve known Buck since we were kids,” Steve said awkwardly. He started walking towards the car, carefully not shrugging Tony off. The height difference made it a little uncomfortable, so Tony shifted his arm to around Steve’s waist, barely touching but appearing close for the cameras. This was all second nature to him; if Steve would only stop tensing up, they’d be golden.

“Hey,” he murmured, “you need to make it seem like you like me, otherwise we’re internationally fucked.”

“I _know_ ,” Steve gritted out. He was still smiling, at least.

“Right, okay,” Tony said. “Just…any time now, would be great.”

*

Steve sat in the front passenger seat on the ride to the palace. He was still in his dirty clothes, stinking up the car, and he spent the duration of the drive chatting quietly to Bucky, pretending his unwanted guests didn’t exist. Tony scowled at his backrest.

Pepper was in the middle, this time, and she drummed comforting patterns onto the back of his hand, Morse code and binary, the way she sometimes did when he needed something to ground him. On her other side, Janet had finally fallen asleep, face squashed into Pepper’s neck. Tony wondered idly if Pepper should put that on her resumé: _Excellent at being drooled on_.

He could only pick up snippets of Steve and Bucky’s conversation, which was boring anyway. They started off talking about the weekend’s football match between Chelsea and Liverpool, and then moved on to a scandal involving the Prime Minister and a sexist epithet (which was nothing compared to what Howard said on a pretty much daily basis, but Tony sympathized), before discussing Sam (Wilson, Tony presumed)’s travel arrangements. Apparently, he was set to return from overseas while Steve and Tony were on morning television.

Never once did Steve glance back at Tony, over his shoulder or in the mirror. Tony tried not to let it bother him.


	3. let's not be friends (for sure)

As soon as they were confined within the walls of Kensington Palace, there was paperwork. The lounge (or, Tony supposed, one of many lounges) was opulent in a British way, all restrained cream and muted gold. Despite himself, Tony liked it.

With a flourish, Bucky presented Tony, Pepper and Jan with matching nondisclosure agreements. Tony was, by now, very familiar with this particular form of legal paperwork, but even he was impressed by how airtight this particular iteration was. In short, none of them were allowed to share any information, anywhere, that wasn’t approved by the Crown. He flicked through it quickly, then signed on the dotted line.

“I’d advise you to actually _read it_ ,” Steve said, through gritted teeth.

Before Tony could snap something inadvisable, Pepper said, “He’s a very fast reader. I assure you, he’s committed the entire thing to memory.” Her tone was icier than usual; Pepper strongly believed in positive reinforcement whenever he actually bothered to read boring paperwork.

“Sure have,” Tony grinned. “I think it’s interesting that we’re not allowed to talk about how much money you have. Don’t the British people pay to keep you around?”

“Glass houses,” Bucky muttered.

Tony beamed at him. “Y’see, _Bucky_ here fights back properly. Take notes, Your Highness.”

Steve’s expression was, for the length of a heartbeat, honestly baffled. Then he smoothed it over, and the look of polite disinterest was back. Something in Tony’s stomach clenched unpleasantly at the sight.

Pepper was the next to sign away her rights, followed by Janet, who drew a jaunty crown atop the J in her signature.

“Is that everything?” Tony asked.

Steve sighed. “Not quite. We should prepare for tomorrow’s interview.”

“Uh, no, I’m good,” Tony said. “I’ve been doing interviews since I was about three. Pretty sure I’ll ace it.”

“Be that as it may,” Steve said, and the gritted teeth were back. Tony might be on his way to irreparably damaging the Prince of England’s precious jaw. “This is different from your usual media circus, and it is essential that we both go in prepared. We need to have a plan.”

“And I’m guessing you’re in charge of this _plan_?”

“Tony, be nice,” Jan said quietly. “Look, I can be the interviewer. It’ll be fun! Who doesn’t love a good bit of roleplay?”

Steve winced.

“Well, you’ve got me there,” Tony grinned. He’d do anything if it made Steve uncomfortable, ruffled his carefully groomed feathers a little bit.

Janet slid smoothly into the armchair that sat at a ninety-degree angle to the couch. From her handbag she produced a pair of tortoiseshell glasses and pushed them up her nose.

“Is there a script, or should I just ad-lib?” she asked.

“I have the list of questions we’ll be expecting,” Bucky said, handing over a folder embossed with the royal coat of arms. He looked like he was suppressing a smile.

Janet cleared her throat. “We’re _thrilled_ to be joined today by our very own Prince Stephen, and First Son of the United States Tony Stark.” She was affecting an English accent – notably posh, but not bad. “So, boys, that was some accident at the Royal Wedding. Do you have anything to say for yourselves?”

“I—”

“We—”

Tony and Steve both started talking at once. Tony glared him into submission.

“You know how it gets,” he said, with a self-deprecating smile. “One second you’re rough-housing with your buddy, the next – pshoom! – you’re underneath a cake. A cake that’s even more expensive than the suit you’re wearing, which is saying a lot. Just about the worst accident you can imagine, really.”

Steve was staring at him, mouth half-agape. Tony wondered what he’d said wrong this time. Bucky cleared his throat.

“That’s right,” Steve said, his accent even more clipped than it has been thus far. The Queen’s English to an absurd degree; Tony fought the automatic urge to mock him. “I let my – emotions – no. My _excitement_ get away from me. Tony and I have been close friends for years, and I hadn’t seen him in six months. I—”

“God, that’s awful,” Tony said. “Sorry, sorry, I assume you’ve been media-trained since you were born, but _really_?”

“I’ll get it in a minute,” Steve said tightly.

“Well, we’ve only got until tomorrow morning for you to make it sound like no one’s holding a gun to your head, Your Highness.”

“I think what Tony means,” Pepper said, “is that your words are conveying affection, but your body language and tone isn’t. And the words – they don’t sound all that natural, if I’m being honest.”

She perched on the arm of Janet’s chair, peering judgmentally at them.

“Sit closer together,” Janet suggested. “Tony, do that thing with your arm – stretch it out on the couch behind him, relax your wrist. There you go. Steve, can you spread your legs just a little wider? There, that’s lovely. You both look a bit calmer, now.”

“Wow,” Bucky said. “That’s pretty damn impressive, Miss.”

“He’s right,” Pepper said. Janet blushed.

“Good to know that if this fashion design schtick doesn’t work out, I’ve always got a back-up in teaching people how to sit next to each other,” Jan said, smiling. “Steve, when you’re talking about your friendship with Tony, don’t rely on dates; it sounds rehearsed when you specify how many months you haven’t seen him in. And it wouldn’t hurt to, like, look at him, maybe.”

Steve glanced at Tony, but within a second his gaze darted away again.

“Okay, we’ll work on that,” Janet said, a touch too brightly.

*

It took two and a half hours to corral Steve into giving a halfway convincing performance. Bucky ordered take out as soon as the sun set, but even the – admittedly, very good – Indian food didn’t much help the mood. Steve was clearly frustrated with himself, so much so that making fun of him had long since lost its appeal. Tony was, primarily, bored.

“—which is why my sister and I will be embarking on a tour of the US later this year, to see more of the wonderful country Tony calls home,” Steve was saying.

“Wait, are you seriously doing that?” Tony asked.

Steve, who had only just managed to relax his posture down from ‘balancing book on head’, stiffened right back up.

“I assumed you had been made aware.”

Tony shrugged. “My dad basically shoved me onto a plane with no further instruction than ‘fix this’, so I’m not exactly in the loop.” He nudged Steve’s shoulder with the hand that was still draped behind him. “Hey, it’s fine. We can go to Disneyland. And Carol likes me.”

“She does?” Bucky asked, eyebrow raised.

“She does,” Steve confirmed. “She thinks he’s funny.”

“See? My charm works on most royals. Well, okay, so Hank thinks I’m the biggest asshole in America – high bar, there – but one out of three isn’t the worst result anyone’s ever boasted about.”

“You have a very woman-specific appeal,” Janet noted.

Tony considered that. “I’ve had too many boyfriends for your theory to hold up, sugarbuns.”

“All your ex-boyfriends hate you,” Pepper said, helpfully. “Ty, Justin, the med school guy, the flight school guy—”

“Right, okay, so you’ve made your point,” Tony said, trying not to notice that Steve looked a bit like he’d been run over by a truck. He hoped he wasn’t introducing a prince to a concept of bisexuality in real-time. Or maybe he hoped that he was. His brain was being unclear on the subject. “Rhodey loves me.”

“Exception that proves the rule,” Pepper said.

Tony took a thoughtful bite of a poppadum. “Hey, Bucky, do _you_ like me, at least?”

“Well,” Bucky said, smirking. “Maybe we should leave it there for tonight. I can show you all to your rooms.”

“Oh, that’s cruel,” Tony grinned up at him. “Not the showing us to our rooms part; that sounds great and I want to sleep for twelve hours. But I’m gonna make you love me, Barnes. I am a goddamn delight.”

“We apologize for him,” Pepper said.

*

Their rooms were in the East Wing, all decorated with the same kind of immaculate wealth the sitting room had exuded. Pepper’s was the only one with a TV, although Tony’s had a bookcase heavy with science fiction novels, and Janet’s boasted a closet that Pepper claimed was as big as her apartment. It was then that Tony realized he’d never been to Pepper’s place, and started trying to wheedle an invite out of her.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Bucky said.

“Cool,” Tony said, “thanks. Oh, can you tell Steve that I’m not gonna, like, murder him on live television? I don’t know why he’s so fucking tense. Just tell him that there are no assassination plans in my near future, so he can…maybe try to relax?”

“I’m sure he’ll appreciate your pledge not to kill him,” Bucky said dryly. “Look, he’s just intimidated by you. Don’t tell him I said so.”

“ _Intimidated_?”

“Don’t get me wrong, he also thinks you’re a dickhead.”

“Yeah, well, par for the course. Intimidated, though, that’s a new one. Guy’s got three times my muscle mass. And probably more money, which is weird.”

“You wanna compare dick sizes next?” Bucky asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Well, ideally…”

Pepper slapped a hand over Tony’s mouth. “Sorry, we’ve tried to talk him out of sexualizing royals,” she said. “He’s not allowed back into Latveria or Wakanda.”

That was a misrepresentation of the facts: Tony had been banned from Latveria for his comments on its democracy – or lack thereof – and Wakanda for asking if he could take the throne by beating King T’Challa in combat. Which had been a joke, but Howard had decided it was also an unforgivable breach of international etiquette. Tony communicated as much into Pepper’s hand. Bucky backed out of the room.

“ _You_ ,” Pepper said, still covering his mouth, “are going to bed now.”

“Can’t we stay up and braid each other’s hair?” Tony asked once released. “Sleepover in Kensington Palace, what fun.”

“Actually, what’s going to happen is that you’re going to be _exceptionally_ well-rested for your interview tomorrow. If I see so much as a trace of jetlag, I will take permanent custody of DUM-E.”

“You won’t want him, he’s a menace,” Tony said. Pepper stared him down. “Fine, fine, I’ll go to sleep. You guys better not do anything exciting without me.”

“Never,” Janet said seriously. “You know our lives revolve entirely around you.”

Tony flipped her off and went to collapse into the oldest and most expensive bed he’d ever slept in.

*

Because jetlag was, in all seriousness, a bitch, Tony woke up at three in the morning. He’d had a good run (seven hours) but he still felt like roadkill. His stomach was also letting out a plaintive rumble, on account of the fact that it thought it was dinnertime. God, did he hate time differences.

Bucky had neglected to give them a tour of the palace, but he figured it couldn’t be too hard to find a kitchen. Given the size of the place, there were probably several dotted around, for no other reason than to show off the Crown’s extortionate wealth. He didn’t care as long as they were stocked with food, and some form of caffeine.

He’d gone to sleep in nothing but his boxers, but he put on a t-shirt as a cautionary measure. There were at least a dozen other people in the palace, and the likelihood of one of them being awake was high enough that Tony recognized the need to not be half-naked.

It took him nearly half an hour to find a kitchen.

There were too many doors ominously shut, without enough light flowing from the imposing windows that lined the many, many halls for him to be sure of which direction to go. In the end, he suspected he’d walked far enough that he was in the opposite wing of the palace, the one where Carol and Steve were staying. Their kitchen – if it was theirs – was surprisingly homely, with a cheery red kettle and souvenir magnets on the refrigerator. He hated how charming it was.

Tony, with the stealth of a bandit, checked every cupboard and every compartment of the fridge-freezer, locating a box of English Breakfast Tea and a promising packet of chocolate biscuits.

He was halfway through the biscuits, and debating adding a fifth teaspoon of sugar to his tea, when he heard footsteps.

His mental chant of _Please be Carol_ did not produce the desired results.

The room was dark – Tony hadn’t been able to find the light switch and had been making do with his phone’s torch – but Steve’s silhouette was unmistakable. Tony swallowed.

“Tony?”

“Right, so, there’s a perfectly logical explanation for why I’m in your kitchen at three in the morning,” Tony said.

“You were hungry?” Steve suggested.

“Well, yeah, that. Why are _you_ awake? You’re not jetlagged.”

Steve reached behind a calendar and light flickered on. Tony looked down at the sea of crumbs that surrounded him, and then up at Steve, who was not wearing a shirt.

“It’s hard to sleep, sometimes,” Steve said, taking the seat next to Tony’s at the granite countertop. “Especially with – this interview. Bucky thinks I’m going to mess up.”

“Forgive me for not giving you a vote of confidence when you keep treating me like I’m made of skin-corroding acid.”

He wasn’t doing that now, Tony noticed. Insomnia or not, Steve looked exhausted, slumped over in his seat. Too exhausted to hold himself carefully apart; their elbows were a millimeter from touching.

“D’you want some of these? Biscuits?” Tony asked. “They’re good.”

“I know. They’re mine,” Steve said.

“We don’t have any like these back home,” Tony told him, taking another bite. “Our chocolate’s not as good, anyway.”

“We’ll make a proper Brit of you yet.”

Inspiration struck. Tony grabbed his phone and pushed it into Steve’s surprised hands, positioned the box of tea in front of him, and looked up through his eyelashes.

“Take my picture,” he said.

“Why?”

“Because I want to commemorate this moment forever,” Tony said, sarcasm dripping. “I’m going to make our friendship Instagram official. Just take my picture.”

Steve obediently angled the phone to frame Tony and his collection of sustenance. He took more than one picture, from a few different angles, like he wanted to make sure Tony had enough options. Tony decided, reluctantly, that he liked sleepy Steve better than regular Steve, although he still wouldn’t admit to liking either of them much.

Within a minute, Tony was uploading himself to Instagram, captioned ‘Midnight snacks with the Prince – he’ll make a Brit of me yet!’ with a British flag emoji to cap it off. Location tag: Westminster Palace. He waved the phone in Steve’s face.

“See? We’re cute as hell.”

“You’re allowed to run your own Instagram?” Steve said. He sounded a little wistful, and Tony shifted uncomfortably.

“I mean, for now? It’ll be monitored more closely when Dad’s reelection campaign really kicks off, but tonight I’m free to post what I want, when I want.” He scrolled through some of the comments; most were positive, a few were making fun of Tony’s bedhead. “I’d take one of you, but you’re a little—” Tony gestured with the phone. “—almost naked.”

“Oh,” Steve said, like he’d forgotten. _Tony_ certainly hadn’t forgotten, although he was doing an admirable job of keeping his eyes above the neck. Pepper was so going to give him a gold star for this. “I’m sorry if I’m making you uncomfortable. I can put something on.”

“Uh, it’s fine. You’ve got a lovely – great muscle definition, really. Not that I’m looking. It’s just. Nothing to be ashamed of, there, buddy.”

Tony reconsidered his policy of not interacting with straight people unless he absolutely had to. He was woefully out of practice.

“Thanks?” Steve said, and started nibbling on a biscuit. Tony buried himself in his mug of tea. The silence stretched.

“Why can’t you sleep?” Tony asked, tactfully.

“My mother doesn’t believe in sleeping pills, things like that. You hear the horror stories about accidental overdoses, mixing medications, and she gets anxious. Protective. So even after I was diagnosed with insomnia, there wasn’t anything she was – willing, to do.”

Tony felt a stab of empathy.

“My dad doesn’t believe in insomnia as a concept,” he said. “People should just try harder to go to sleep, I guess, is his opinion. My mom secretly takes Ambien.”

“And you?”

Tony smiled ruefully. “I didn’t sleep for about a week after he got elected. Not like he noticed, except to tell me to stand up straighter and smile wider for photos. Doesn’t matter either way. I keep getting told that I have an ‘addictive personality’, so. No Ambien for me, no matter what.”

Steve looked stricken.

“Oh, don’t look like that. I’m fine. Einstein slept, what, four hours a year? Or something?”

“Bit more than that, I think,” Steve said.

“You can’t prove it,” Tony said around a yawn. “So, what’s your play? You going back to bed in a minute, or waiting it out ‘til morning?”

“I suppose you’re waiting it out?” Steve asked, nodding at the now-empty mug. It was decorated with the royal coat of arms, Tony noticed.

“Well, I just got practically a full night’s sleep,” Tony said. “Any doctor would be proud of me. You, on the other hand…?”

“Haven’t slept yet.”

“Fuck.” Steve looked a little shocked by the profanity, but didn’t reprimand him. “I mean, I can talk about robotic engineering until you doze off, if you like?”

“I don’t think I’d be able to sleep around you, Tony.”

Right, because they hated each other. Tony blinked, crunched down another biscuit, and got to his feet.

“No, of course not. I’ll just leave you to it, then,” he said. “Sorry for, uh, invading your kitchen and stealing your tea.”

“Don’t worry, that’s also very English of you,” Steve said wryly.

Tony laughed, realized what he’d done, and fled.

*

“It was weird,” he told Jan the next morning. “He was almost like a human person.”

“Who could’ve seen that coming?”

“I know you’re making fun of me, that that doesn’t detract from the seriousness of the situation. Did I mention he was shirtless?”

“Several times.”

Jan was the one who looked TV-ready, with her chin-length hair deliberately tousled, a flick of black eyeliner and red tint on her lips, sunshine yellow dress flaring out to mid-thigh and paired with knee-high white socks. Tony was wearing boxers and a Guns N Roses t-shirt.

“I was thinking shirt and waistcoat, no blazer,” he said. “Couple buttons undone. Blue?”

Janet gave him an appraising look. “You know Steve will be dressed to the nines.”

“Well, yeah, but not _stylishly_. He’ll just look rich. I want to look cool.”

“Not blue,” Janet said. She started digging through his clothes, none of which he’d unpacked. “Grey will play better onscreen with your eyes. You’re right about the buttons. We’ll get you a little flag pin, that’ll be cute.”

“You’re a genius.”

“That’s why they pay me the big bucks,” Janet smiled. “Wish we knew what Steve was wearing, so we could co-ordinate. I guess it’s not too late to ask?”

“Hopefully he’s still getting some sleep,” Tony muttered.

“It’s sweet how much you care.”

Tony floundered. “Hey, if he looks tired it reflects badly on me.”

“Yes, yes, you’re very selfish,” Janet said dryly. “Do you think we can get away with just a _smudge_ of eyeliner? You’d look gorgeous.”

“I look gorgeous already.”

“You look tired,” Pepper said, sweeping in with her hair piled neatly into a bun, dressed in a pristine white pantsuit. Tony and Jan both whistled. “I told you not to look tired.”

“You’re mean but fabulous,” Tony said. “I love that suit. Can I borrow it soon?”

“You’re too short,” Pepper, who was unfairly advantaged in three-inch heels, said. “And you need to stop stealing my clothes.”

“Oh, stop pretending you’re not responsible for that hoodie of mine that went missing. I know you had your eye on it.”

“You can afford another one.”

Janet bounced over to Pepper. “Can I make one small adjustment?”

“I don’t know. Can you?”

Tony put on his grey pants, watching as Janet pulled a couple of strands out from Pepper’s bun to frame her face. It could have been the light, but he thought Pepper’s cheeks went a little pink.

He turned away, shrugging out of the t-shirt and replacing it with a proper undershirt before he buttoned up the form-fitting white shirt that usually played well for Twitter. Once he had the waistcoat done up on top, he examined himself in the mirror. Tame, but stylish. It was as good as he was going to look under the circumstances.

“Wish I could get away with sunglasses,” he muttered.

“Shouldn’t have come to England if you wanted to pull off that particular accessory.” Janet came to stand next to him, eyes roving critically over his reflection. “You look good. Put some product in your hair.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Absently, he was aware that he cared far more about Steve’s reaction than Twitter or the British public’s. He wanted – he didn’t know what he wanted. To inspire envy, perhaps, or at least to make Steve see him as an equal. Most would say that such a shift in opinion couldn’t be pulled off by an outfit – those people hadn’t met Tony Stark or Janet Van Dyne. He shook his head at his reflection, threading platinum cufflinks through the holes at his wrists. It shouldn’t matter this much. He’d get through these next few days with fake affection and practiced smiles, and then he’d go home and wouldn’t so much as think about Prince Steve until their next scheduled meet-up. It would be fine.

*

They were led to breakfast by an officious-looking woman with short hair and a stern expression. He briefly wondered whether she was the British equivalent of Pepper, before he registered the outline of a gun underneath her blazer.

“Do we have to do the whole breakfast thing?” Tony asked. “Just source me some coffee and I’ll be good to go; we don’t have to make it a whole thing.”

“Speak for yourself,” Janet said. “I want a blueberry muffin. Or – ooh! – crumpets.”

They ate separately from Steve and his cohort, which Tony refused to have any particular feelings about. He just – he wanted to see how Steve looked after last night, whether he was as done up and perfect as he always was or whether there’d be some kind of tell that he’d stayed up, soft-eyed and loose-limbed, and eaten chocolate biscuits side by side with a man he despised.

It was just idle curiosity.

But Tony got his coffee, Janet got her crumpets, and he didn’t see Steve until he was ushered into the sleek black car that would convey them to the studio of the BBC.

Steve looked – flawless, was the word. There wasn’t a single hair out of place, or a hint of purple under his ridiculously piercing eyes. He was wearing a preppy little bowtie, the blue matching his blazer and the flower tucked into his front pocket. The overall effect was almost nauseating.

“Ready for this?” Tony asked, to avoid a more revealing question like _How are you this gorgeous, because it’s just unfair at this point?_

Steve’s smile was tight, and didn’t reach his eyes. Tony didn’t think he’d ever met someone in the public eye who was so thoroughly awful at lying. He smiled back charmingly, just to prove that it could be done.

“Don’t worry about me,” Steve said.

“Just—” Tony reached out, rested his hand on Steve’s shoulder. Steve’s head jerked towards him, an almost comedic double-take. “That’s exactly what we’ve gotta avoid. Every time I touch you it’s like you can’t stand to have the hands of a commoner on your person.”

“I would never,” Steve bristled. “And you’re hardly—”

“I’m just saying what it looks like.” Tony adjusted his grip, adding a little pressure. “There’s, what, three layers of clothing between us? And whatever you find so distasteful about me isn’t catching, so just. Act like you want it.” Bad phrasing. Tony coughed. “You know what I mean – like we’re friends. Pretend I’m Bucky or something, whatever gets you through this.”

By degrees, Steve’s posture softened.

“Great,” Tony muttered, letting go of him. He pressed his palm flat against his own thigh. “We’ve got this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no prizes for guessing who med school guy and flight school guy were
> 
> thank you for reading!


	4. torturous electricity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay yes i'm sorry but here's my excuse: when lockdown happened i moved out of my house and no longer had access to my housemate's copy of rwarb. i finally caved and bought my own, so there's a relatively good chance i won't go seven months without updating again
> 
> content warning: steve and tony both discuss various traumas in this chapter. tony's generally pretty flippant, but he experiences some ptsd over a past kidnapping & other kidnapping attempts. both allude to abusive fathers. steve talks about carol's alcoholism.

The motorcade pulled up in front of the studio, and through the tinted window Tony could see that they were about to be mobbed. Wonderful.

“Is it always like this?” he asked, tilting his chin towards the flocks of people behind flimsy barricades. The din they were making was loud enough that he had to raise his voice slightly.

Steve raised an eyebrow. “I imagine it’s similar for you.”

“Well…” It wasn’t, really. Tony was more famous than anyone would ever know what to do with, but there were ways for him to avoid truly massive groups of people – which was a relief, considering how antsy they made him. The only days he got mobbed were the ones where he’d done something truly scandalous the night before. But he supposed he and Steve did exist on the same general spectrum. “Someone did once break into my hotel room and steal my underwear.”

Steve looked scandalized.

“I wasn’t in there at the time.”

“I should hope not,” Steve said. “I, um. We’re ready, Buck.”

From the driver’s seat, Bucky nodded and twisted around in his seat. “Steve goes first, Stark, then you.”

“I can live with that,” Tony said. He watched as Steve squared his shoulders, looking more like he was getting ready to go up in front of a firing squad than a bunch of fervent admirers. Bucky slid the door open, and they were out into the weak light of a cloudy day.

“Keep walking,” Steve said out the corner of his mouth. “No autographs or pictures.”

“But they came all this way,” Tony quipped. “No need to get your panties in a twist, Your Highness. I’ll try not to embarrass you.”

He flashed his best all-American smile around as they made their way to the door of the studio, giving a few waves. Steve was smiling, too; it might play alright in the blurry black and white of a newspaper, but Tony felt sure that anyone seeing it in HD on Twitter would see how clearly miserable he was. He almost felt bad for the guy.

Once they were inside, they were whisked backstage and into hair and makeup. Tony could see Pepper amongst the producers, clearly ordering them about. He tried to catch her eye, but she was too busy.

“Any last-minute revelations about British TV that could help me?” he asked Steve.

Steve shrugged. “There will probably be less yelling than on Fox.”

“Low bar.”

Steve gave him a sideways glance. “That network—” He said it with so much disdain that Tony almost laughed. “—seems to be a big fan of yours.”

“Uh, no,” he said. “Don’t get me wrong, they _love_ my dad, so they have to tolerate me, but it’s all in the details. It’s kind of funny how desperate they are to keep me out of politics.”

“Is that what you want?” Steve asked. “To follow in your father’s footsteps?”

“God, no. Can’t think of anything worse.” Tony smiled as a pretty makeup artist came over to dab concealer over his dark circles. “Not that the idea of running as a Dem isn’t funny. He’d pop a blood vessel.”

“You really hate him,” Steve observed.

“No shit, Sherlock.”

Steve looked away. “It’s just that you fake it well.”

“Yeah, well, now it’s our turn to pretend we’re each other’s biggest fans.”

*

He felt more comfortable in the over-bright glare of the studio lights, which probably said something damning about his psyche. Either way, he smiled winningly for the cameras as he took his place next to Steve on the red couch, casually resting his arm behind his back.

None of the questions ended up being unduly taxing. The presenters accepted the excuse about the roughhousing without so much as a follow-up question (being a white male royal must mean escaping a lot of scrutiny, Tony reasoned), and most of the questions focused on the origins of their supposed friendship.

“There’s been a lot of talk of you ‘breaking the internet’ with your Instagram post last night, Tony,” the female interviewer said. “Five million likes in as many hours. How does it feel to be part of a friendship with that many fans?”

“To be honest with you, that’s part of the reason we kept it under wraps for so long,” Tony said. “It can be weird to feel like everyone’s got a stake in your relationships. But it’s also great to experience this much support from so many people. If I’d known something like this was all I needed to rack in millions of likes on a picture of myself, I would’ve been posting selfies of me and this guy for years.”

He nudged his knee against Steve’s, and Steve managed a passable look of delighted chagrin.

“It’s mostly down to me that Tony here hasn’t been tweeting our every interaction,” he said. “I’m not one for attention.”

“Whereas I can’t get enough,” Tony grinned.

“So can we be expecting more public appearances from you two going forward?” the male interviewer asked.

“Most definitely.”

*

“That went well,” Pepper said as soon as they were done. “We’ve still got a few users on Twitter and Reddit identifying this as a PR stunt, but on the whole you were very convincing. There’s already a Buzzfeed article chronicling your bromance.”

“Jesus Christ, that was quick,” Tony said.

“Welcome to the wild world of associating with royalty.” Jan slipped her arm around his waist and gave him an encouraging squeeze. “You were fabulous.”

“I was, wasn’t I?” Tony grinned down at her. “So what’s next?”

“Next is lunch at a café where a select few photographers will ‘catch’ you,” Pepper said, reading from her folder. “It’s supposed to be Prince Steve’s favorite establishment; the implication being that he’s taking you on a very personal tour of London.”

“When you put it that way it sounds like a euphemism,” Tony pointed out.

“It’s not, so be on your best behavior.”

“Right, of course. And after lunch?” he said.

“Charity visit to a children’s cancer ward,” Pepper said, then grimaced. “I managed to talk Obadiah down to one photographer. I have no idea how many will be there on the Crown’s behest.”

Well, that was one way to make Tony feel gross.

“Right, perfect, turn the sick kids into a photo op. Got it.”

“With any luck, it’ll raise public awareness about the great work the National Health Service does,” Pepper said. “The cameras don’t have to be a bad thing.”

“Am I allowed to implicitly support nationalized healthcare?” Tony asked. “That sounds like something Dad would’ve vetoed.”

“It was Prince Steve’s choice. Apparently this is a ward he visits monthly.”

Tony looked over to where Steve was conferring with his own PR team. He seemed absorbed in whatever a blonde woman was telling him, but Tony managed to catch Bucky’s eye. He raised an eyebrow, and Bucky shot him a thumbs up. So the royals were happy with his performance, too. It didn’t mean as much to him as Pepper’s approval, but he’d take it.

*

Early into Howard Stark’s presidency, Maria and Tony had worked together to form their own charity. They’d never stated their true intentions out loud, but the implicit purpose was to offset some of the damage Howard was doing. As the months went by, more and more limitations were slapped on to stop them from involving the trust in anything that might be perceived as contradictory to the government’s policies. President Stark was the tough-on-crime, big-business candidate, and so rehabilitation programs for convicts and schemes to lobby for regulation were swept quietly under the rug. As it stood, choosing any cause to direct money or resources to led to a battle with Howard over the optics.

In that way, Tony was jealous of the way Steve stepped into the children’s cancer ward of the Royal Marsden hospital and was immediately flocked to by excited kids, nurses, and doctors. He seemed to be on friendly terms with all of them, reminding a timid-looking nurse to call him Steve rather than Your Highness.

In his home country, if Tony tried to make a surprise appearance at a hospital it got leaked to the press and by the time he arrived there was a legion of protestors out front decrying his father’s healthcare policy. Which was all well and good, except for how he wasn’t allowed to say he agreed with them.

Here, he was barely a footnote to Steve’s presence; none of the staff or patients regarded him coldly – they barely regarded him at all. It was as though something was loosening around his lungs.

There were two hours scheduled out for them to spend with the kids, so Tony left Steve to his admirers. He found himself in a room with five children, two of whom were asleep, all hooked up to tubes and machines. He had to introduce himself, something that hadn’t happened back home for the best part of two years.

“I’m the son of the President,” he said, trying not to let shame suffuse his tone.

“That’s so cool!” a little girl said. She was clutching a stuffed giraffe in one hand and a book that looked too big and complicated for her age in the other. “Do you live in the White House?”

“I do,” he confirmed.

She looked adorably confused. “Then where do you sleep?”

Tony grinned. “I’ll let you in on a secret,” he said. “The White House has bedrooms. Lots of them, actually.”

Her eyes widened.

“What are you reading?” he asked.

“ _The Hunger Games_ ,” the girl, who was at the oldest ten, said. Tony felt his eyebrows lift patronizingly before he could stop himself.

“Your mom know about that?”

“She got it for me.”

“Well, in that case,” Tony said. “Want me to read to you for a bit?”

He ended up sticking by her side for the best part of the two hours, reading from Katniss’ sacrifice for her sister to her first moments in the arena. The girl – whose name was Laila, he found out – was enraptured the whole time, and he knew that the other kids in the room were listening in, too.

When he put the book down, Laila looked up him with beseeching eyes.

“Why’d you stop?”

“I’m sure your mom would love to read you the rest,” he assured her. “And I have to find my friend.”

“Prince Steve?”

Tony nodded.

“He’s my friend, too,” Laila told him. “He says we’re mates.”

Tony raised his eyebrows again. “Really? You see him a lot?”

Laila nodded excitedly. “ _He_ read me _Harry Potter_.”

“Did he, now? Were his voices as good as mine?”

He watched as the girl struggled to remain diplomatic. “I liked your Haymitch,” she said. “But I _really_ like Steve’s Hagrid.”

Tony tried to imagine Prince Steve doing a Hagrid impression and blanked. He didn’t think Laila was pulling his leg, though. That bore further investigation.

“What about my Effie?” he reminded her.

She giggled. “Will you come back?”

Tony shifted uneasily. “I hope so. I’d love to see you again, little Miss.”

The nurse – who had already been round twice during the impromptu book club to give Laila her meds – once again made her presence known.

“You should probably go find your entourage,” she said. “This’ll knock her out pretty quick.”

On a whim, Tony reached out and squeezed Laila’s hand. “Sweet dreams, kiddo.”

As the nurse began squeezing medication through the tube that entered the crease of Laila’s elbow, she smiled up at him. “Get Prince Steve to do his Hagrid for you,” she said. “You’ll love it.”

*

He found Steve at the opposite end of the ward, surrounded by an enraptured group of kids attached to portable IV drips. His back was to the doorway, so Tony was able to creep in unnoticed; none of the children paid him the slightest bit of attention, so consumed were they by whatever Steve was saying.

“Why would Luke do that?” a girl interrupted, eyes shining. “He could die!”

It was then that Tony’s brain processed what Steve had actually been saying: he was recounting the plot of _Star Wars_.

“Some things are so important that they’re worth giving one’s life for,” Steve said gravely. Tony struggled not to snort at the self-important tone; all the kids, at least, seemed to be taking the adage very seriously. “Luke knew that without his flying expertise, the Rebellion would be in very dire straits indeed.”

Steve wasn’t reading from a book, Tony realized; he was recounting the plot of _Star Wars_ from heart. He gave himself a firm mental talking to about finding that hot.

“What about Han?” a boy at the back shouted out.

“He’d never tell anyone, but Han’s scared,” Steve said. “None of this was supposed to be his problem, but he got dragged into it by this farm kid and princess, and now he cares more than he ever thought he would.”

“Does he come back?”

“Oh,” Steve said with a grin, glancing up at one of the nurses, who had been making a frantic ‘wrap it up’ notion since Tony had walked in, “I suppose you’ll just have to wait until next time to find out.”

There was a groan from all in attendance. Tony covered his mouth with a hand to keep from laughing.

“Why don’t we all say thank you to Prince Steve?” the nurse gently urged.

There was an off-key chorus of ‘thank you’s, and Steve gave an ironic bow, tipping an invisible hat. This time, Tony didn’t manage to successfully muffle his (very manly) giggle, and Steve’s eyes shot back to find his.

“Tony,” he said. His voice was neither warm nor as cold as it had been during their previous interactions. Tony, unable to stop himself from being a shit, curtsied.

“The one and only.”

Steve’s eyes were wary, but not annoyed. Tony considered that a roaring success, and sidled up to wrap a friendly arm around Steve’s shoulders.

“What Stevie here _won’t_ tell you,” he addressed the throng of admirers, “is that Princess Leia is the best character. And Han shot first. Any questions?”

“Would’ve pegged you for a Han Solo fan,” Steve murmured.

“Why? Is it my rugged good looks? My devil-may-care charm?”

“Maybe I just think you’re a stuck-up, half-witted, scruffy-looking nerf herder,” Steve said.

Tony faked a swoon. “Never been accused of being half-witted before, but I’ll take it. You heard it here first, kids: I’m the Han to his Leia.”

There was a smattering of giggles. Steve leaned down to whisper directly in Tony’s ear.

“If you make a gold bikini joke, I can have you executed.”

Tony, who had been revving up to a gold bikini joke, stopped in his tracks.

“Right, well,” he said, tugging Steve gently towards the door, “we’ll just be heading off to find our Luke, then.”

*

“You’re good with kids,” he said, once they were out in the corridor, tailed by Steve’s favorite bodyguard. Steve had shrugged away from contact the moment they were out of sight, and Tony tucked his hands into his pockets before they got any ideas. A Steve who seemed kind and loved _Star Wars_ was considerably more dangerous to him than the Steve he’d known thus far.

“No need to sound so surprised.”

They were just rounding the corner when it happened: a crash, followed by a shout of alarm. Tony pricked to attention, but before he could even think to investigate Bucky was grabbing both of them by the backs of their shirts and bundling them through a door which turned out to lead into a janitor’s closet.

“Stay here,” he hissed, before slamming the door on them.

The darkness was so complete, and so sudden, as to feel crushing. Tony banged his hip against a shelf and stumbled into a mop. He was just managing to right himself when he stepped backwards, discovered Steve’s ankle with his foot, and sent them toppling to the floor in much the same manner as they’d done at the wedding.

“ _Really_?” Steve said.

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” Tony said before he could help himself. It felt as though his face was squashed into Steve’s chest, which was an interesting position.

“Get _off_ me,” Steve hissed. Belatedly, Tony registered that his knee was in the region of the royal private parts. He wisely resisted the urge to laugh and rolled to the side, where he landed on something sharp and immediately rolled back.

“I think I’ll stay where I’m less likely to get stabbed by a rogue syringe,” he said.

“I _order_ you to move,” Steve said.

Tony _did_ laugh at that. “Christ, do you hear yourself?” he said in between guffaws. “What the fuck? You’re not the prince of me.”

Outside, footsteps thundered past their hiding spot. Tony felt Steve tense underneath him. Which was saying something, since Steve had previously been as tense as Tony had believed it was possible for a human being to be.

“Not used to attempts on your life?” Tony asked.

“It might be nothing,” Steve said. “It’s _probably_ nothing. That noise could’ve been anything.”

“Sure, Your Highness.”

“It’s—” Steve’s voice sounded less stable. “It’s a _children’s_ hospital. Surely no one would…”

“Mm,” Tony said. “Someone tried to kidnap me from an elementary school, once.”

“You’re lying,” Steve said – practically a snarl.

“Um, fuck you.” Tony kicked against Steve’s calf.

It was a petulant move more than anything. It counted for nothing, surely, with Steve built the way he was. But Steve fought back instantly, rolling Tony over and slamming him against the bottom of the shelving unit, coming to land heavy on top of him.

“I would’ve known if that had happened,” Steve said harshly. “I read your file. The fact that you’d _lie_ —”

“You think every assassination attempt goes public? You think my dad’s super into looking weak? Fine, whatever, just stop crushing my fucking windpipe,” Tony said. He was struggling, of course, but he might as well be lying still for all the effect it had. And Steve’s forearm stayed pressed over his throat, unrelenting.

“People have tried to kill you?”

“No, I’m too valuable for that.” Tony tried to make it sound flippant, but with the darkness all around them and the pressure on his neck it was all too easy to flash back to Afghanistan, to the blind rage at his captors and at his father, _fuck_ , who’d known he was a high-value target and had sent him there _anyway_. He ended up gasping out the rest, “That fortnight I was on a yacht in the middle of the ocean, that was complete bullshit, and the five days I spent recovering from a ‘skiing accident,' as if I’d ever voluntarily go skiing for fun—”

“What? No.”

He listened to the shuffling of feet outside the door, the squeaks of rubber against vinyl. His breathing was unsteady and so fucking loud, but at least Steve was holding himself back, now, hand almost gentle around Tony’s shoulder.

Tony’s heart was just juddering its way back to normal when Steve said, “I’m so sorry,” low like a secret.

“No, don’t feel _sorry_ for me, Jesus. Just stop trying to beat me up and we’re all good.”

“I didn’t know.”

“Yeah, we’ve established that.” Tony scrunched his eyes up and waited for the buzzing beneath his skin to recede before he went on. “Seriously, it’s been a couple years since anyone tried anything. I’m all better now.”

“Are you?” Steve sounded doubtful.

“No, Dr. Freud, and I’ve been having all these strange thoughts about my mother.”

“Okay, fine, we can talk about something else.”

“Ooh, goodie, let’s. Should we start with how you’re _definitely_ more into pop culture than your file lets on? And then can we launch into your Hagrid voice?”

Steve let out a sound that was half-groan, half-laugh.

“I’m being a hundred percent serious,” Tony said. “Why are you more interesting than you pretend to be?”

“Now who’s psychoanalyzing whom?”

“I’m just saying that for someone who’s a godawful actor, you seem to be doing a lot of it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Steve muttered. “And even if I did, it doesn’t matter.”

“Oh, so we’re going to have to hang out for the foreseeable future but I never get to learn anything about you? Is that how it goes?”

“As if you’re not pretending just as much as I am,” Steve said.

“Never said I wasn’t. And, go on, ask me anything,” Tony challenged.

There was a pause during which Tony took six carefully measured breaths.

“Why do you hate me?” Steve asked.

Just like that, Tony’s breathing rhythm was thrown right off. “You hated me first,” he said, folding his arms.

“No,” Steve said slowly. “You wanted to make me angry. I’m not saying you didn’t succeed, but from the first moment…you weren’t checking me out just to do it, were you? You wanted a reaction.”

Putting it like that made Tony sound like a particularly maladjusted toddler. But there was truth to it.

“I wanted to drag you down into the mud with me,” Tony murmured. “Not in a – not _just_ in the fun way. I wanted to show myself that you weren’t the perfect prince – the perfect _person_ – my dad always said you were. The whole election campaign, it was just _endless_. Why can’t you be more like the prince? Why can’t you learn to behave like him? Stand up straight like him? Unite the nation like him? Like, full disclosure, my dad might jerk off to pictures of you appearing at state functions.”

“There’s no need to be crass.”

“Don’t you _get_ it?” Tony snapped. “This is the way I am! I’m – crass, and I’m loud, and I flirt and I hate my father’s politics and I can’t suddenly grow seven inches, no matter how much he wishes I would. I _can’t be you_.”

“My father was drunk when he died,” Steve said, sudden and startling. It had the hushed quality of confession. “He was most days. And we weren’t allowed to talk about it, after he was gone, but we knew. He’d gotten drunk and he’d drowned, and I wasn’t sorry about it.”

“Oh,” Tony said. “So, shitty fathers all around, huh? That sucks.”

“Carol inherited it from him,” Steve continued. “Not the cruelty, but the drinking.”

Tony cast his mind back. He couldn’t remember ever seeing Carol with a drink at any of the events he’d seen her at.

“In recovery?” he asked.

“Not precisely,” Steve said. “There’s a bottle of whiskey in the cupboard underneath our sink that she thinks I don’t know about. I check it every night. Most nights it’s at the same level, but every so often it dips, just the barest amount. Not enough that I can talk about it. My mother would send her straight back to rehab, you understand. And Carol hated it there.”

“I can imagine.”

“Maybe when the bottle’s finished. Maybe then I’ll say something. I’ll figure out how to phrase it so she doesn’t think I think any less of her for it. Just – there was a time when it was bad, really bad. And I thought she would die.”

How this turned into trauma sharing hour Tony has no idea, but he does the only thing he can think to do and wraps a tentative arm around Steve’s waist, squeezing lightly.

“I still think you’re a dick,” he said, “but you’re a good big brother. You should hear the way Carol talks about you, seriously. I have to tell her to knock it off, every time. It’s disgusting.”

“And you’re—”

“No, shut up, we’re not playing compliment ping pong here. Tell me your favorite Star Wars movie and I’ll call it even.”

“I wasn’t going to _compliment_ you,” Steve grumbled unconvincingly. “And why should I, when I just know you’re gearing up to tell me all about how _Empire Strikes Back_ is the pinnacle of cinema, because it’s so _dark_ and _gritty_.”

“Oh, fine, and I suppose yours is the original because it’s suitably wholesome.”

Steve’s silence was all the answer he needed.

“So, anyway, how do you feel about _The Last Je_ —?”

Tony was cut off by the sudden slice of light into their hiding spot. He yanked his hand away from Steve’s waist and stared guiltily up at Bucky, who looked as though he was suppressing a laugh.

“This seems cozy,” he commented.

“It _was_ fun to have sex in the closet during the terrorism scare,” Tony said. He waited for Steve to get up before he followed. In the bright light, it was suddenly a lot more important to keep space between them. “Speaking of which…?”

“Nothing to worry about,” Bucky said. “Two teenagers got into a fight. Managed to upend a few grands’ worth of medical equipment in the process.”

“Well, it’s no hundred-thousand-dollar cake, but they’re coming for my brand.” Tony stepped back out into the corridor and rolled his shoulders. “Boy, it’s good to be alive. Who wants Nando's for dinner?”


	5. if you come to america, just hit me up

The press ate it up, naturally. For the next month, Pepper’s expression was set in a permanent (only a little smug) smile, and the paparazzi started yelling things at Tony that didn’t concern his sex life. It was bliss.

Things were going so well that he even got an opportunity to visit Rhodey, who spent the entire time soundly mocking him.

“Bromance of the _century_ ,” Rhodey crowed, holding a physical copy of _People_ magazine aloft. “The century!”

“It’s kind of depressing how well this worked,” Tony said. He made an attempt to snatch the magazine for himself, but Rhodey managed to smack his hands out of the way. “Rogers was barely even _trying_ to sell it. I had to do all the work.”

“And I’m sure it was very hard for you,” Rhodey said. Without putting any undue emphasis on the word ‘hard’, he somehow made his implication perfectly clear. Tony swatted at a convenient bicep.

“Please. I have never met a more tragically straight person in my _life_.”

“What about Banner?”

Tony knew his expression went a little bit wistful, just thinking of his second-year lab partner.

“No, that was tragic _for me_. It wasn’t a tragedy with international implications.”

“Like a plane crash or the last election.”

“You get it.”

Rhodey grinned and flopped down on his bed, leaving space for Tony to squash up next to him. Tony had offered to buy Rhodey a bigger bed at least a thousand times, with the airtight argument that it was as much for his benefit as for Rhodey’s, to no avail. He could see Rhodey's point. In a room the size of this one, a double bed would be more of an inconvenience than a luxury. As it was, the bedroom was just large enough for the bed, a haphazard pile of textbooks, and a chest of drawers.

“So when do I get to meet the prince?” Rhodey asked.

“Never, if my dad gets a say.”

“I let you kiss me in public _once_ and miss out on the chance to meet royalty,” Rhodey sighed. “You only make my life worse.”

“Excuse _you_ , I am a ray of sunshine _and_ you wanted me to kiss you, don't think you can lie to me. Plus, I haven’t decided whether I’m gonna _let_ my dad have a say. I’ll just fake-date Jan again and take you with us to Disney World.”

“With plans like that, it’s a wonder you’re not in the CIA.”

“They should be so lucky,” Tony huffed. He flicked at one of the model airplanes that hung over Rhodey’s bed. “I miss having you around. Like, not that the clandestine sex-capades aren’t fun and all, but…”

“Just calling them that guaranteed that you are _not_ getting laid tonight, dude.”

“Yeah, fine, just cuddle me and we’ll call it even,” Tony said, as if there was any option in Rhodey’s bed _but_ to cuddle.

Pep had only given him a couple of hours before he had to go back, anyway. They’d already burned through most of their time just eating cold leftover pizza and dramatically reading internet comments about his and Steve’s ‘bromance.’ Tony’s favorite was, “i guess its nice that prince steve always sees the best in people. as if stark deserves it.” Rhodey’s favorite was the more succinct, “Stark’s actually been a little less punchable this week.”

“Just…” Rhodey’s voice was quieter, now. “Promise me you’re doing okay, man.”

“Rhodey. Honeybear. Light of my life. Not seeing you every day has sent me careening off the deep end. I don’t know if I can go on. I’m surrounded on all sides by darkness, pressing me in, the pain is unbearable—”

“Be serious for, like, one second. Please.”

Tony shifted so he didn’t have to look Rhodey in the face. It was easier that way, to lie facing the window with Rhodey’s arm wrapped secure around his waist. There were a few splats of rain landing on the windowpane, and he traced their progress with uncharacteristic focus.

“Everything still sucks, obviously. I keep thinking there must be something that’ll keep him from winning in November, but then he’ll just say the bad shit out loud, in front of about three-thousand cameras, and there’s not so much as a dent in his approval ratings. I could have a full-on orgy on the White House grounds, or leak the footage from when I was a hostage in Afghanistan, or write a memoir about the shit I remember from my childhood – and none of it would make the slightest difference.”

“Why not do it anyway?”

Tony breathed slowly for a minute and a half. Rhodey didn’t rush him. And even though he hadn’t told a single other soul about his suspicions, he knew that this was the one safe place where he could.

“Obie would kill me.”

“You mean…?”

“Literally. I think Obie would have me killed.” Tony shut his eyes. “I know it sounds crazy, but I’ve thought over what happened in Afghanistan a thousand different ways. It doesn’t make sense, how they knew where I’d be. The information was supposed to be privileged, just me and Pep and the two soldiers I was with.” Both of whom were dead, now.

“And Stane.”

“It was the perfect moment. The rest of the trip, security was intense. Not impossible to circumvent, but it would’ve made a splash to take me when I was on the base. But he picked his moment well. There’s no – evidence, nothing beyond the circumstantial. I just…”

“I believe you,” Rhodey interrupted gently.

Tony swallowed around a thickness in his throat.

“What about the other attempts?” Rhodey asked. Tony may have lost count of how many close calls he’d had, aborted kidnappings or would-be assassins brandishing guns, but he knew that Rhodey hadn’t.

“I don’t know. They could’ve just been to scare me. But Afghanistan…”

He didn’t need to say it. Rhodey had been in the hospital with him, afterwards, and probably knew the physical effects better than Tony did. His ribcage was a mess of metal plates, he was due for a heart attack within the next few decades, and they hadn’t been able to fully repair the damage to his lungs. There wasn’t a known cure for the nightmares about being waterboarded.

It had taken months for him to even entertain the idea that all that could have been planned by someone he still saw almost every day. And now, a couple of years on, saying it out loud. It should feel absurd. Ridiculous.

“I had my suspicions,” Rhodey said. Matter-of-fact. “Not that he’d done it. But…that he was glad it had happened. I saw him in the hospital, while you were still unconscious. He only visited once. But the way he looked at you…I knew there was something up there.”

Tony sagged in relief, body pressing back against Rhodey’s. For the remainder of their time together, he just let himself get wrapped up in the steady rhythm of Rhodey’s breathing, in the safety of knowing there was at least one person who believed him.

*

When he got back to the White House, it felt like a weight had finally left his body. The good mood – for a relative meaning of the term – lasted all of twenty minutes, before he remembered.

Howard Stark was a busy man. He had been for as long as Tony had been alive, and he had not been in the habit of making a lot of time for his family. That was, until a PR firm had indicated that it might positively impact his approval ratings.

It was for such a mundane reason that Tony was subjected to family dinners once a week, with a discreet photographer outside whichever overpriced restaurant Howard chose. The pageantry was absurd and demeaning to the American public, but Tony went along with it because it was one of the only remaining opportunities he had to spend time with his mom.

Tony fucked around for an hour, messing around with some coding work that had been weighing on his mind for weeks, and then he threw a blazer on over his t-shirt and meandered down to the hall, where Pepper was waiting.

“How’s Rhodey?” she asked, not looking up from her phone.

“Languishing without me,” Tony said. “Nah, he’s good. Apparently NASA wants to snatch him up once he’s finished his PhD.”

“Wow. Tell him I say congratulations.” She gave him a critical onceover. “Are you ready to go?”

“Course I am.”

She didn’t force him to change into something other than jeans, but she did run a hand through his hair, fixing it.

“You’ll do.”

*

Dinner was excruciating, as it always was. Howard couldn’t bring himself to compliment Tony on a PR stunt well done, but he couldn’t find much from the last week to criticize, either, so he settled on dredging up past indiscretions. Maria asked soft questions about his PhD, and then settled into silence while Howard grumbled about how useless a doctorate in mechanical engineering was, when Tony should be stepping up to take over the business that Howard had _definitely_ cut all ties to once he became president.

“All those degrees and not a single one in business.”

“The way I remember it,” Tony commented mildly, “ _you_ didn’t get a degree in business. Or in anything. You dropped out – what was it? – halfway through your second year. Without a major.”

The vein in the center of Howard’s forehead bulged.

“Darling,” Maria said smoothly, “do you want to split a dessert? I have my eye on the tiramisu, but if you want something else…”

“Get whatever you want,” Howard said, taking a generous gulp of his third glass of scotch.

Tony did the same.

*

For the next few weeks, Tony and Steve tweeted at each other with carefully planned randomness. Tony snapped pictures of headlines about the prince and posted them on Instagram with pithy captions. He commented on Steve’s posts with laddish compliments and questions, to which Steve always replied. Or – Tony didn’t really think it was Steve doing any of it. Bucky, more likely. The guy seemed to have a very malleable job description.

Then, without warning, he received a text. He was at a ball game at the time, doing his best not to pass out from boredom. His date was a promising Stark Industries employee whose father was in prison for money laundering. She shot him a dark look when he pulled his phone out of his pocket, but she also hadn’t spoken to him the entire time, so he ignored the disapproval and pulled up the text.

Upon further reflection, I could definitely pull this off.

Attached was a picture of Steve’s television screen, paused on Princess Leia in her gold bikini. Tony snorted out a laugh before he could think better of it.

**In your dreams** , he replied.

His phone didn’t buzz with a response for the rest of the day. Not that he was expecting one.

*

The following Tuesday, while Steve was on holiday in Australia, Tony came across a picture of Steve, Bucky, and the as-yet-unnamed redhead sunning themselves on a beach. After showing Jan, who was painting her toenails sunshine yellow at the bottom of his bed and who swooned appropriately at the image, he very carefully cropped Steve out and sent the remainder of the picture: Bucky in his swimming trunks, the mystery woman in a one-piece and shawl.

**What a view.**

This time, the reply was quick.

Don’t objectify my friends.

**Bucky and I have an understanding. He insults me and I objectify him.**

Bucky says you’re an idiot.

**Exactly.**

He realized he was grinning down at his phone and quickly schooled his face into a more neutral expression. When he looked back up, Janet was staring at him with narrowed eyes.

*

Steve over text was – different. It wasn’t that they didn’t argue, because they did, frequently, but divorced from Steve’s carefully blank expression there was something almost playful about his cheaper shots. And sometimes they managed to – just chat. It was functional, on one level. They needed to know more about each other in order to pull off the continuation of the ruse. Tony’s careful Instagram comments could now mention Steve’s preference for chocolate ice cream, how he was a heathen who preferred a bowl to a cone. People ate that shit up, and when Steve retaliated with a selfie of him and a bowl of chocolate ice cream, the likes came streaming in.

And – Tony could admit that the number of people he hoped it would be when his phone buzzed (Rhodey, Jan, Chris Pine) had gone up by one.

Tony began sending Steve pictures of Pepper and Jan’s outfits, and in return he got more texts about Bucky – who apparently rode a motorcycle and could pilot a helicopter if need be – and about the red-head, who it turned out was named Nat. The best day was when Steve let slip that the hot soldier cabal was actually a three-way hot soldier relationship, which led to a series of keyboard smashing replies from Tony, who then gave Steve’s number to Janet so that she could send more keyboard smashing.

**If they’re looking for a fourth and fifth then I would like to formally request that me and Jan skip past you in the line.**

I’m not even in the queue.

Then, three minutes later:

Not that there is a queue.

**I totally respect their committed polyam rship I am JUST SAYING**

The time difference didn’t make much of an impact, which given both of their insomnia shouldn’t have been surprising. It just seemed like Steve was _always_ awake, ready to respond to Tony in a matter of minutes. Even though Tony knew for a fact that his life was busy. He had his Google alert for mentions of Prince Steve – for research – and he knew full well that Steve’s schedule was packed.

The web of their friendship publicly expanded, lending them authenticity. Steve and Janet followed each other on Twitter and exchanged movie and television recommendations. Every few days, Tony composed plaintive requests for Bucky to follow him back, several of which were in verse and most of which went viral. Bucky finally caved when Tony posted a haiku about his ass. His response, “I’m doing this to get him to stop,” was a trending topic from Thursday until the following Tuesday, even though that weekend coincided with Howard starting a trade war with Brazil.

Carol and Tony had an extremely asinine exchange about British vs American chocolate, and when Tony next checked his phone his mentions were flooded with the hashtag ‘Tarol,’ which was just an objectively horrible portmanteau. He gently suggested everyone switch to ‘Carony,’ and they were off.

*

It was four in the morning when Tony’s phone lit up with the message, but he was just barely asleep.

Distract me, please, I’m in the worst meeting of all time.

**Let me guess: Hank?**

Steve’s texts about his oldest brother were always chilly, which Tony had quickly latched onto.

You really ARE a genius.

**See, sarcasm doesn’t work over text, so I can just call that a compliment. Flatterer.**

Just tell me something that’s got nothing to do with royal finances and I’ll flatter you however you want.

Tony considered.

**Well, it’s 4 in the morning here and I think I just cracked artificial intelligence, so there’s that.**

Tell me you didn’t call it Skynet.

**Ha. No**

He pressed his face into his pillow. He hadn’t told anyone about this yet; he’d let Pepper know in the morning, and then he’d call Rhodey and Jan, but for now:

**JARVIS, actually**

Doesn’t sound too evil.

**Yeah, definitely not. That was the name of my butler, growing up.**

He’d died just before Howard had decided to run for president. Cancer, nothing anybody could’ve done. Howard hadn't visited him at the hospital, not even once. He - or a PA, more likely - had sent a tasteful bouquet of flowers that Tony watched wilt in their spot on the hospital windowsill as the weeks went by.

**Gotta say, I do love getting to chat with someone who can’t make fun of me for having a butler.**

He must’ve been quite the guy. And…you’re right, but I can still tell on you to Bucky.

**And here I thought we were getting to like each other.**

His stupid failing heart leapt into his throat the moment after he pressed send. It wasn’t the kind of idiotic sentiment he would’ve sent during the day. Four am was a mistake after all.

Steve probably didn’t _hate_ him anymore, but that was no reason to start – their friendship wasn’t real, it was just a PR stunt that Steve attended to like he attended to all his other princely duties. Tony was the one who just went around imprinting on people like a baby bird.

Steve’s reply, when it came, did little to assuage Tony’s fears:

Hank wants more renovations on his palace.

**That’s what the meeting’s about?**

> Yes. He wants Kensington Palace upgraded. To the tune of a few million of the taxpayers’ pounds.
> 
> **Holy shit. What’s wrong with Kensington Palace?**
> 
> Fuck if I know.

Steve rarely swore. It was only then that Tony realized how angry he was.

**He’s an entitled prick. We knew this.**

A couple of minutes passed without a response. Tony knew he was shit at emotional support, but it felt desperately important to get some kind of positive reaction out of Steve right now.

**How many butlers do you think he’ll have running around?**

Oh, an unconscionable number.

**I’ll hack his social media if you want me to. Or, I’ll get my AI to do it, more precisely.**

Hack?

**I’ll say hack if I want to say hack, you can’t stop me.**

Another three minutes passed. Tony was about to turn his phone off when Steve’s next message came through.

> Maria’s pregnant, apparently.

**Wow. Congrats to her.**

She’s not here.

> **Yeah, well, whenever you see her. And this is great news, now you REALLY never have to worry about ascending to the throne.**

Thank goodness.

Tony was tapping out a reply when his phone buzzed again.

Go to sleep, Tony. I promise to tell you all about how we’re spending our blood money when you’re better rested.

He laughed, too loud for the still darkness of his room.

**Well, when you put it like that…**

For once, he managed to fall asleep without staring at the ceiling for an hour beforehand.

*

He awoke to Pepper screaming.

“ _Why is your ceiling talking to me?_ ”

Tony cracked an eye open. The time and date flashed promptly onto the opposite wall, which meant he’d properly attuned JARVIS to his nonverbal communication, and the scanners were working. That was good to know. Less good was the fact that it was eight o’clock, and he’d been asleep for less than four hours.

“JARVIS, say hello,” he croaked.

“As I was _trying_ to explain,” said the AI, a little huffily, “I am J.A.R.V.I.S. Just a Rather Very Intelligent System. At your service, Ms. Potts.”

“You can call her Pepper, Jarv.”

“I will leave that to Ms. Potts’ discretion,” JARVIS responded.

“Tony,” Pepper said softly, “what is this?”

“Like he says. JARVIS. I, uh, made an AI. Do you have coffee?”

“I did, but I dropped it.”

He looked down at the plush cream carpet and took in the overturned mug and seeping brown puddle. What a waste.

“Okay, JARVIS. For future reference, don’t startle people who’re holding coffee. I needed that.”

“Noted, sir.”

“You made it call you _sir_?” Pepper said.

“He’s not an it,” Tony corrected gently. “He’ll get all offended. Seriously, he gets pissy about the weirdest shit.”

“Um,” Pepper said. “So it – he’s like an Alexa?”

“No, Bezos can suck my dick,” Tony said, rolling out of bed and stretching. His neck and shoulders cracked. “He’s – I don’t quite know what he is, yet. We didn’t have a lot of time to play around last night.”

“This morning, sir,” JARVIS corrected.

“Figure of speech, buddy. I’ll get round to more programming…this weekend, probably. What day is it?”

“Wednesday,” Pepper and JARVIS both said in unison.

“Huh,” Tony said. “Well. Now you guys have been introduced, I’m gonna find something with caffeine in it. Feel free to stay here and get better acquainted with each other.”

*

Janet met JARVIS later that day, and immediately started using him as a partner to bully Tony. It occurred to Tony that he shouldn’t have programmed his AI with the capability to bully him.

“It’s not bullying,” Janet said, starfishing in the center of Tony’s bed. “It’s _teasing_. We do it with love. Right, JARVIS?”

“Correct, Ms. Van Dyne.”

“Is it a glitch that he won’t call me Janet? JARVIS, hon, we’re on a first-name basis.”

There came the AI equivalent of a sigh. “As you wish. Janet.”

“It does sound weird,” Tony said. He was sat on the floor, but it was fine because Janet’s fingers were in his hair and he was hooking up more cameras for JARVIS to spy on him with. “Maybe if you ask nicely he’ll call _you_ sir, too.”

“We’ll work something out,” Jan said. “What’s he calling Pepper?”

“She doesn’t like talking to him,” Tony muttered. “She’ll come around. And when she does, I feel like she could pull off _ma’am_. Y’know, if anyone could.”

Janet giggled, high and musical. “Hey, JARVIS, would you call me Daddy if I asked.”

“If you asked,” JARVIS said, with more weariness than he should have been capable of.

“I still don’t know how you managed to give him a personality,” Jan said. “I kind of love him. JARVIS? I love you.”

“Your sentiments are returned in kind, Ms. Van Dyne.”

Tony was still laughing when his phone chimed with a message from Steve.

Janet sent me a video. He’s amazing, Tony.

Instantly, Tony’s palms were sweating. It was just that JARVIS was – JARVIS was _him_ , no bullshit fronts or deflection. This was something he made, that he was proud of. The thought of Steve seeing that was unbearable, except in all the ways it wasn’t.

He gave himself a few seconds to recover, and then he was launching himself up onto the bed, landing on top of Jan.

“I can’t believe you texted _Steve_ about this.” Tony let out a soft grunt when Janet easily flipped their positions. Of the two of them, she was the one with extensive self-defense training. Of course, she was also tiny, so having her on top of him was no great trial. “This was a special moment, just you and me and my baby AI, and you show the _enemy_ …”

“Oh, please, you wouldn’t smile like that every time he texts you if he was your enemy,” Jan said, propping her chin on his chest.

“Your heart rate, too, increases when you receive correspondence from Prince Stephen,” JARVIS added helpfully.

“Yeah, well, my heart rate increases every time I stand up. Medically speaking, a Monster energy drink could kill me. You’re gonna need better evidence than that, traitor.”

“You _like_ him,” Janet sang. “And I bet he said JARVIS was cool. He did, didn’t he?”

“No comment,” Tony said. “You can have gossip privileges back when you stop cavorting with the enemy.”

“That’s okay,” Jan said. “I can just gossip about _you_ with _Steve_.”

Tony turned his face into his pillow and groaned. He was so, so fucked.


	6. it's strange what desire will make foolish people do

“Right, so project onto that wall there, thanks buddy,” Tony said. “Set the volume at – just set it pretty low and whip up some subtitles for me. We wouldn’t want anyone getting suspicious about my sudden interest in politics.”

“Naturally, sir,” JARVIS said, and obediently projected the Democrats’ primary debate to his specifications. Taking notes would have produced a paper trail, so Tony just kept up his low chatter with JARVIS and trusted the AI to record him.

“Odds are against Walters even though she’s the best qualified,” he murmured. “Human rights lawyer for eleven years, stands for pretty much the opposite of everything Dad stands for, voters see her as angry and idealistic. And a woman. Hill’s got the same problem, except she’s a hawk, and people see her as too emotionless. I’m gonna go ahead and assume Hammer’s the favorite to bag the nomination? Because what we need is yet another CEO-turned-president.”

“He is the current favorite,” JARVIS confirmed. “Closely followed by former Secretary of State Fury.”

Tony hissed out a breath. “ _Way_ too many skeletons in his closet. I give it a week after he’s nominated before the New York Times receives leaked emails about the _real_ reason he advised intervention in Sokovia. What about Pryde?”

“She consistently polls around the middle of the lot.”

“Yeah, okay, I can work with that. Who’s at the bottom?”

“Osborn and Summers.”

“All of which leads us to the question,” Tony said, “of who we sabotage first.”

*

It wasn’t that his talk with Rhodey had given him false hope. Getting his dad out of office was a near-impossibility, and the risk to his own safety was incalculable. He’d just decided he didn’t care.

The first thing to do was find an ally. He was torn between Walters and Pryde, since they were the only two he had any hope would be able to undo the damage of his father’s presidency. It was just that there was currently no way to run the numbers so they came out on top.

In a pinch, Hill and Fury were competent, but both came from military backgrounds, and their thirst for war was well-documented. Hammer, Osborn, and Summers were the dangerous ones, each flouting a combination of stupidity and blind patriotism.

Outing Hammer would have been easy, but it was also an unspeakably shitty thing to do. Besides, Hammer’s come-ons were always joking enough for plausible deniability; Tony had seen him in action countless times as well as being on the receiving end of his attentions himself, and there was something almost admirable about the slimy way he propositioned men. Exposing his shady business dealings could work with a Democratic base, who knew. But it certainly hadn’t stunted Howard’s rise to power.

Not that anything Stark Industries did was legally objectionable, as far as Tony knew. He’d have to look into it.

There was the hope that Hammer would fall on his own face at some point, as he was wont to do. But the tech billionaire angle seemed to be covering for all his previous gaffes, glossing a sheen of respectability over a man who was essentially a power-hungry leech. Tony put a pin in it and started on figuring out a way to make his donations to Walters’ and Pryde’s campaigns entirely anonymous.

*

He didn’t tell anyone what he was doing, except Steve. He didn’t know why it slipped out during one of their text conversations.

Well, that wasn’t quite true. Tony had made a joke about abolishing the monarchy, and Steve had shot back a jab about Howard’s close ties to some of the world’s worst dictators. And Tony had typed and sent, ‘yeah, that’s why I’m trying to stop him,’ without thinking, because Steve’s disapproval always made his gut roil, made him want to prove something.

Steve’s reply had been a long time coming, although the typing bubble never let up.

What are you doing to stop him? And how can I help?

*

That was how their first phone call came about. Steve’s voice was groggy, because of that eight-hour time gap Tony kept forgetting about. Or – not forgetting so much as simply electing to ignore it.

“Sorry, were you sleeping?” he asked. “Or, not-sleeping, you know how you do.”

“Not-sleeping,” Steve confirmed. “Feel free to tell me about your master plan.”

JARVIS was helpfully projecting the UK time onto the wall: five in the morning. So Tony felt like a dick, nothing new there. He took a gulp of coffee that had been cold for hours and let himself finally tell another human person what he was thinking of doing.

“It’s not so much a plan as a pipe dream,” Tony admitted. “But it’s a dream on a few different fronts. First, backing a decent Democrat—”

“I like Fury.”

“Figures. Fury’s just about the least trustworthy person I’ve ever met. Even his secrets have secrets.”

“I suppose you like Pryde. She seems like your type.”

“You spend a lot of time thinking about my type?” Tony said automatically, before coughing and covering with: “Walters would be my number one pick, but Pryde’s focus on education reform is appealing.”

“Walters is more about criminal justice reform, right?” Steve said.

“Among other things.”

“Okay, so step one is getting one of them the nomination,” Steve said. “Then what?”

“Sabotage Howard,” Tony grinned. It was his favorite part of the pipe dream. “I’m yet to figure out what’ll completely destroy his chances, but it’ll have to be big.”

“Bigger than all the things he’s already done?”

“Point. That’s why it has to be something that’ll turn the people who like him against him,” Tony explained.

Steve was silent for a minute. Tony settled down against his pillows and waited. “Couldn’t you and your, um, boyfriend…?” Steve’s voice trailed into embarrassed nothingness.

“What, _Rhodey_? Can’t believe that news made it over the pond,” Tony laughed. “And even if it did, I’m sure you saw the spin. That kiss was a drunken mistake with a friend. Everyone knows Tony Stark is straight.”

“But you’re not,” Steve said stubbornly. “And the way you talk about Rhodey—”

“We’re not together like that,” Tony interrupted. “Besides, I can’t drag him into this particular media circus. He deserves his own life.”

“What if you just came out?” Steve said. “Only if you want to! It’s just, you seem pretty open about it—”

“Keep your hair on, I’d come out if I thought it’d help,” Tony said. “I mean, that’s what I was trying to do with the kiss. I _was_ drunk, but I knew the cameras were there. And then I sat in a meeting a few hours later while a PR firm came up with a strategy to brush it under the rug and I was told I wasn’t allowed to see my best friend anymore.”

He could almost hear the wheels turning in Steve’s head.

“What if you _were_ dating someone?” he asked. “If you were in a serious, committed relationship with a man?”

“It’d be a compelling narrative, sure, but I’m not. And then there’d be the dance of how to leak it to the press without encountering interference from Dad’s team, and, you know, trying not to get disinherited.”

“What would be so wrong with being disinherited?”

Tony felt the automatic lump forming in his throat. He'd had ample time to get used to this, and yet it still struck him the same every time, right in the heart. “I—” He shut his eyes. “I don’t think my mom would choose me.”

“Oh,” Steve said. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Tony said. “I mean, it’s not, but it’s whatever.” And he hadn’t even told Steve about Obie.

“Say you could pull off that balance, though,” Steve continued, and, Jesus, he was really harping on about this, “and you could find someone to – pretend to be in a serious relationship with. Do you think that could help?”

“It’s possible,” Tony said dubiously. “If he was a minor celebrity, maybe, it’d take off with gossip rags.”

“Okay.” He heard Steve take in a breath. “What if it was me?”

Tony’s heart briefly forgot how to do its job.

“You’re kidding,” he said.

“No,” Steve replied, “I’m not. You’re not the only one trying to make a change, you know?”

“Jesus, don’t make me sound like an activist,” Tony said. “I’m just trying to fix my dad’s shit.”

“Of course. And I’m probably just a bored royal trying to make a splash.”

Tony was only half listening. Most of his mind was consumed by weighing up the consequences of this decision, and how best to implement it.

“We’ll make it the October surprise,” he said. “So we still have a while to lay the groundwork, and my dad doesn’t have enough time to bury it once it’s out there.”

“Oh,” Steve said. “So we’re really doing it?”

“Don’t back out on me now, soldier. This was your idea.”

“It was,” Steve agreed. “And I won’t back out.”

“Hang on,” Tony said, “I’m calling Jan. She’ll want to be in on this from the start.”

“And Pepper?”

Tony considered. “Probably better to give her plausible deniability,” he said. “I’m not gonna hide the truth from her, but I’m also not going to rope her into collusion.”

“God forbid,” Steve said, very seriously.

“You’re a dick. Okay, Jan’s on the line. Hi, babe.”

“You are interrupting my girls’ night and I hate you,” Janet’s sparkling tone entered the room.

“You have a girls’ night? Without me?”

Both Janet and Steve went silent for long enough that it was clear they were trying to induce shame in him. He refused to let it work.

“Is this code for alone time with Pep? Do you have other friends?”

“Excuse you, I have a _ton_ of friends.”

“Janet, light of my life, I know you’re a social butterfly, I just didn’t know you were having sleepovers with those finishing school bitches – those are your words, not mine, I’m just borrowing your misogyny for a second – you hang out with at parties.”

Sulkily, Jan admitted, “Yeah, I’m with Pepper.”

“We have _got_ to get you more girl friends,” Tony replied.

“Asshole,” Janet said fondly. “So, for what purpose have you interrupted my evening of pillow fights and repressed sapphic desire?”

“You say that like it’s a joke, and yet…”

“ _Tony_ ,” Steve interrupted.

“Oh, right, so Steve and I have decided to pretend to date,” Tony said.

Janet took a few moments to absorb this information. “Okay. And is there a _reason_ you’re doing this?”

“It’s actually kind of perfect,” Tony said. “I mean, it would’ve been _more_ perfect back when gay marriage was the hot button issue, but we can make it about LGBT rights as a whole and, basically, it’s going to send the Republican Party into a death spiral.”

“ _That_ seems optimistic.”

“Yeah, probably,” Tony admitted. “But I think if we stage it right we can make my dad unelectable. The trick is that Steve is famous, too, and therefore it’s _interesting_. It’s a _scandal_. And it’s the kind of scandal where Dad has to commit to a stance on it, especially with the Evangelicals. Like, does he go on national TV and say he thinks his son and the Prince of England are going to hell? Who knows! It’s very exciting.”

“It’s a riot,” Jan agreed flatly. “Are you sure about this? You’re talking like the worst thing that can happen is Howard saying something horrid.”

“What’s the _actual_ worst that can happen?” Steve asked. “Tony getting disowned?”

“Are you going to tell him?” Janet asked. “About Obie?”

Tony sucked in a sharp breath. “What do _you_ know about Obadiah?”

“Only what Pepper’s told me. And she only said it because she’s worried about you, and if something happens…”

“Nothing’s going to happen.”

“Who are you talking about?” Steve asked.

“My dad’s Chief of Staff,” Tony explained. “Me, and apparently Pepper, have developed this wild conspiracy theory that he tried to have me killed one time. Or a few times. Like all good conspiracy theories, it’s malleable.”

Steve sounded completely horrified when he said, “ _Why?_ ”

“At a guess,” Tony said, “I’m more valuable dead. No one on either side of the aisle really likes me, and a death in the family would garner my dad sympathy he won’t otherwise get. Plus, if I’d been killed in Afghanistan it would’ve justified sending more troops without upsetting public opinion too much.”

“Shit,” Steve swore. “Was your dad in on it?”

“No,” Tony said. That much, at least, he was certain of. “I’m not trying to make excuses for him as a father, but he’s not the type to have his own kid killed. You know, to his credit.”

“Tony…”

“You said you weren’t backing out,” Tony reminded him. “And, seriously, don’t worry. No one’s going to kill me for my boringly adorable romance with royalty. Get your knickers out of their twist.”

Janet made a choking sound of laughter, and the tension was effectively broken. They weren’t going to force him to talk about it. He wouldn’t have to admit that the first thing he’d programmed JARVIS to do was wake him if anyone entered his room at night. He wasn’t going to say that he felt crazy and paranoid for even thinking this way. He didn’t need to describe the relief of finding out that Pepper had come to the same conclusion separately from him.

“This could be fun,” Janet said. “I am going to make you guys into the best love story either side of the Atlantic has ever seen.”

Steve let out his own laugh. “What have I gotten myself into?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tony: how are we gonna get this asshole out of office  
> steve, instantly: you could pretend to date me


End file.
